


Do Not Go Gentle

by Aragem



Series: Shattered [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alien Invasion, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gay Male Character, Homosexuality, M/M, Rebellion, Sexual Slavery, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2020-09-26 18:17:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20394061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aragem/pseuds/Aragem
Summary: Continuation of For We May Hope.  Told through multiple POVs.Shiro and Bridget struggle to survive slavery of the Galra until something happens that changes everything.Keith and Pidge plan to leave Earth to find their missing loved ones.Lance and Hunk are ordered to carry out an impossible mission that may cost them their lives and make the innocent suffer.Thace struggles with his feelings for Keith and looks into the youth's past for answers.Haxus carries out an investigation to preserve his honor as a Galra, but may lead him to uncovering a conspiracy that may threaten the Empire itself.For updates and more, go to my Tumblr page: RebelCourtesan





	1. Lance, Thace, Keith

**Lance **

The hot sun beamed down on the back of Lance's neck. Early afternoon was not the best time of day for yard work, but the new curfew disallowed anyone leaving their homes until after 10:00 AM as the sun was high and the day getting hotter. Lance had reason to suspect that the sudden change had something to do with what Haxus found under the church weeks ago. 

The shovel bit into the earth and scooped up grass and soil under the pressure of his foot. Lance dumped dirt into a waiting wheelbarrow, and when it was full, took it around behind the house. It was a good thing he was accustomed to farmwork, or this could have been brutal work indeed. And all of it for only ten gac.

That was all the elderly couple could afford to hire someone to dig a garden. With the price of food and taxes going up, those who still own property turned their yards into vegetable gardens. Unfortunately, the labor to till the earth was too much for the couple to do themselves. 

They had approached Keith with the job as he was the local errand boy. People went to him for repairs, yard work, and errands they were unable to do themselves. However, he was only one guy working within a reduced workday due to the curfew. Whatever jobs he couldn't get to, he passed onto Hunk and Lance, which benefited them as their funds were beginning to dwindle. 

It was irked Lance that people considered Keith as their boss and went to him with the job offers. He negotiated prices and sent Hunk and Lance to addresses . . . Just like a boss. Once when Keith told him about the pay for a job, Lance balked.

"Christ, Keith, building a fence for twenty gac?" Lance said. "That's a hundred gac job, tops!"

Keith fixed him with a hard look. "Do you think people around here got that kind of money? Mrs. Carson's husband was killed during the invasion, and she's alone caring for her three kids that she wants to play in a fenced yard so she can rest after working all day. She offered to pay thirty gac, but I told her you'd do it for twenty, but if you have a problem with that, I'll do it myself."

So Lance shut up and built the fence for an appreciative Mrs. Carson, who provided a pitcher of ice water while he worked. She apologized that it wasn't the lemonade she usually offered for laborers, but she hadn't seen any lemons since the invasion. Lance told her that water was fine and worked exceptionally hard on the fence to satisfied the wave of shame nagging him.

For weeks they laid low and worked odd jobs while they waited for word from Iverson of their next orders. The curfew restrictions prevented them from sending reports via the radio near the wall, and the protocol was to use Sandy Topp's means of communication to relay information and receive orders. Unfortunately, she was also feeling the bite of current events. Her job at Bruisers was in jeopardy as the place was forced to shut down.

It took some digging, but Lance and Hunk managed to find out where she lived. It was a tiny apartment in the more shadier part of the district where homes and apartments were overflowing with tenants sharing exorbitant rents. Her apartment was on the third floor with a creaky staircase leading up. Lance walked by a door with an arguing couple behind it and stepped over a passed out drunk on the stairs. 

Her door had a number seven that hung upside down in a lopsided L. Sandy opened the door wearing only a thin white t-shirt that did nothing to hide that she wore no bra. "Lance? What are you doing here?"

"Uh, Sandy, can I come in?" It was all he could do to keep his eyes on her face. 

She beckoned him inside and locked the door behind him. "You're in luck. My roommates are out working so we can speak freely." 

"They don't know . . ." Lance said cautiously.

"I don't shit where I sleep, hon," she said dryly.

The apartment was almost smaller than his. There was a couch with blankets and pillows, a side room with a shared kitchen and dining area. Sandy picked up a pack of cigarettes as she headed to the window. "Lemme guess. This curfew is keeping you from getting intel out of the district?"

"Yeah. We use . . ."

Sandy raised a hand to stop him. "Nah, don't tell me. The less we know of each other's methods, the less we can give away if the Galra interrogate us." She tapped out a cigarette and opened the window. Sitting on the window sill, she motioned for Lance to take a seat in a dining chair at the table.

Lance pulled up the chair and sat on it backward with his arms folded over the top. "We need your connections to send a report to Iverson and receive orders."

Sandy lit the cigarette and took a short drag. "Alright. I can send a brief report through my connections, but it'll take some time. This curfew isn't making anything easy."

"How's Bruiser taking his bar being shut down?" Lance asked. It was hard not to stare at her elegant legs, but there were telltale marks along the thighs where clawed hands had handled her too roughly. 

"Bruiser is sweating bullets. He thinks the Galra are going to accuse him of being in on it." She tapped some ash from her cigarette out of the window. "He's in some hole somewhere praying for the Galra to let him reopen."

"In on what?" Lance asked. The closing of Bruisers was very sudden, and the rumor mill was spinning about what had caused the closure. 

"You haven't heard?" She tilted her head at a curious angle and then nodded. "Oh, that's right. They told us not to tell anyone about it, and Bruiser said that if word got out, he'd fire us all on the spot. Fuck him." She took a long drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke out the window in a long stream. "Three Galra went missing, and their bodies were found buried out in the desert."

Lance's eyebrows shot up. "Holy shit. Seriously?"

She nodded with a grim expression. "They believe Margery Kayla had something to do with it. That's why we got this new crazy curfew."

"How do you know so much? Surely they didn't tell you all this at Bruisers." Lance doubted that the Galra would have shared this information with a bartender and his girls. 

Sally shot him a wicked grin. "Since the bar was shut down, I had to operate my own side business with the customers who miss my services. They like to complain about their jobs just as much as they like to brag about them."

However, something didn't make sense. Margery had told him that Galra were her best customers, and the woman loved money. So why kill her best customers? Why take the risk of her smuggling ring being targeted by the Galra? The answer was simple, but it's still confusing. She would only do such a thing if it meant a large reward at the end of it. There was nothing he could do about it now, but survive the consequences of her actions. 

Lance gave her a brief summary of his report. Her eyebrows arched at the mention of the intergalactic phone call. "How the hell did you manage that?"

"Uh, uh," Lance said, wagging a finger at her. "The less said, the better."

He provided their address for her to send word once she heard anything from Iverson. 

*** 

While the guys were working, the girls remained in the apartment bored out of their minds. Sammi was appeased with any new books or magazines they collected as extra rewards for services. However, Pidge was pulling her hair out over their long pause in the mission. Lance was not unsympathetic for her anxiety, if it were his family, he would be doing everything he could to find them, but that was the problem. There was nothing they could do until Thace came back around, or Iverson sent them orders.

There was no telling how long it would take for Sandy's connections to carry the messages, and Thace was likely too wrapped up in this whole investigation thing. Bruisers being closed reduced Keith's access to him. Keith tried calling him, but there had been no answer. Maybe Thace had lost interest in Keith, or perhaps the events of that night embarrassed him to the point where he wanted to ghost him. 

Everything was at a frustrating standstill until something changed. Maybe the Galra will unclench and ease off on the curfew, Thace might come around to sniff at Keith again, Or maybe Sandy will come through with Iverson's next orders. 

  
  


**Thace**

Leslie was gone. He made sure of that. 

A few days after the incident with Haxus, he sent for her. It probably wasn't a sound idea as the poor woman was quivering in fright as she was led into his office by a sentry. She likely believed she was being arrested for some unintended slight. 

She sagged in relief when she saw him, and he took some pleasure of seeing Keith in her face and frame. It was almost tempting to change his mind and keep her with him, but that wouldn't be honorable. Leslie had been used and hurt because of him, so he must make reparations towards her. 

"Leslie, I've arranged for you and your family to leave the district for Ottawa tomorrow at 8:00."

She blinked, and all the blood drained from her face. "But sir," Leslie shook her head, almost overwhelmed. "If I leave here, I won't have a job anymore."

Being a prostitute was what kept her family sheltered and fed. Becoming his mistress had been a boon as he paid her well, and she wasn't obligated to service other Galra. In her eyes, he was sending her away to fend for herself in unfamiliar territory. 

"You'll have paid work waiting for you. I've put your name forward to be a local arbiter," Thace said as reassuringly as he could. "You'll handle domestic affairs under Imperial Law. It's like your judicial system's judges, but you'll be assigned a zone to oversee and bring any serious matters to the higher ranking arbiter of your district."

Her tearful eyes batted several times as it slowly dawned on her what he was telling her. She swallowed as she struggled to keep from staggering under the weight of it all. "I . . .I won't have to . . . to be a prostitute anymore? I can practice law again?"

"I created a bank account in your name and put some money in it," Thace said, relieved that she was calming down. He wasn't sure how he would handle a hysterical human woman. "There's also a house waiting for you. I paid the first month's rent, and it's large enough for your family and near a school . . ."

"A-are you going to Ottawa?" Leslie asked as a tear rolled down her cheek. "Is that why . . .?"

"No, I'm staying in this district," Thace said gently. "This is where we part ways. If there must be a reason why I'm doing this, then it's because you've been a good companion to me and Haxus harmed you for that. This is the best way I know how to keep that from happening again."

Leslie closed her eyes as fresh tears fell. Her life has changed again, but this time for the better. After taking several deep breaths, she said, "I don't know how to thank you. I feel like this is a dream . . ."

"It's no dream. I want to make up for all the . . .for all the harm." 

The harm being how his people had invaded her planet and ruined her life. It made her career obsolete, and with no way to provide for her family, she had resorted to selling herself to the same invaders who made her destitute. Now part of that old life had been given back to her, a soothing salve in an old wound. 

"Thank you," she wept, brushing tears from her face. "You're one of the good ones."

It wasn't until after she left that he realized he had become fond of her and will miss her. He wouldn't interfere with her new life as it was hers to live now. She left the district the next day with her family. His sources told him they arrived safely and moved into their new home. Thace was tempted to continue keeping tabs on her, but to do so would also be interfering. 

Now other matters had his attention. The murder investigation had turned into a search for Dr. Margery Kayla. Her being a doctor surprised him. There had been no clue as to what her background had been before the invasion, but he never imagined it would be anything as noteworthy as being a doctor or a scientist. He doubted she could have gained such surgical talent from being a professor. 

Upon discovering who the murderer opened new lines of questions. Why take organs? Was she working for the rebels? And where was she now?

Haxus scoured the whole district, and it was only by Thace's intervention that prevented him from breaking every door of every home. 

"Are you trying to start a riot!?" He had hissed at Haxus after summoning him to his office. "It was bad enough terrorizing that woman and her son, and now you would harass the human population?"

"You seem to forget that Kayla killed three of our men!" Haxus replied with just as much intensity. "As a soldier of the Empire, one would think you'd tear this district apart to find her!"

"You keep forgetting that my role in this district is to keep the peace," Thace said, glaring at his ex-lover from across his desk. "I said I would not interfere with your investigation as long as you kept it civil. Breaking into people's homes is far from it."

"These people are not Galra," Haxus said, his ears almost flat against his head. "They do not warrant Imperial protection."

"These people," Thace growled, "all took the oath to the Empire, marking them as citizens, which puts them under my protection. If you want to start breaking down doors, then provide me evidence to show they all had a hand in it. I would think you'd have your fill of it from torturing her dealers."

Haxus eyes narrowed into small slits. "Commander Prorok will hear of this."

That was a dire threat as the Commander had been in the foulest mood since his return. More than one poor soul had been subjected to harsh punishment for the minor crime of inconveniencing or annoying the Commander. Some had even lost rank and position over it. 

"Go ahead," Thace said with a lift of a shoulder. "Maybe you'll be lucky and catch him between mealtimes. We certainly wouldn't you to end up in the Ulippa system."

Since that exchange, Haxus distanced himself from Thrace and kept his actions to himself. Thace supposed that as long as he didn't hear of his activities, then he wasn't causing too much damage. 

With Leslie gone and things ended with Haxus, Thace spent long nights alone and longing for a warm body next to his. His thoughts often drifted to Keith's lithe body. The long lashes that framed his violet eyes and how his pulse would throb against his lips. If the youth was part Galra, would that explain such a strong visceral attraction he had towards Keith? Was a primal Galra part of him recognized a likeness in that human face? 

Keith could visually pass for human, but surely any human doctor would have picked up on the boy not being wholly human through blood tests or examinations. Human medicine couldn't rival the Galra's, but it was advanced enough to discover that at least up. Perhaps, they have detected it and associated it with an outlier or an anomaly in his genetics. 

The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to know about Keith. He apparently did not know his heritage, or he was an outstanding actor. The youth had a set of skills, but from Keith's impulsive nature, Thace doubted he had any talent in deception.

  
  


**Keith**

He was careful not to touch anything with his hands covered in soot like the rest of him. It covered his arms in black flakes and gray smudges, and he feared his shirt had been ruined. It was no longer bright red, but a sickly hue that almost reminded him of Pepto Bismol. He didn't have a chance to see himself in the mirror, but from the open stares from pedestrians who saw him as he walked home, he must be quite a sight. 

Cleaning out a chimney wasn't a clean job, but he was ill-prepared for when the buckets of soot poured over him, filling the living room with a cloud that covered everything in a layer of dark dust. Thank God, the owner had the foresight to cover everything with sheets before he started cleaning, or it could have been far worse.

Thankfully, the crone behind the desk wasn't downstairs when he came in. Mindful to remove his shoes, he trod upstairs carefully so as not to leave a dusty trail. The landlady would have kittens if anyone dared to leave one grain of dirt on her precious floor and would have a conniption fit at the state of him. Keith needed to clean himself up quick before she saw him. 

There was no thought of knocking on the door though he should have. Living alone for so long had diminished that courtesy, and the door was unlocked. 

That was how he saw Sammi standing with her shirt up to her chest and holding a hammer. With the hammer raised, she pivoted towards the open door and took in Keith's appearance and screamed. Equally alarmed by the sight of the raised hammer, Keith jumped backward, dropping his shoes, which hit the floor in a puff of dust.

"Keith!?" Sammi cried, the whites of her eyes reeling. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, I - I was cleaning the inside of a chimney . . .what are you doing?" He forced his eyes on her face. 

Sammi noticed the hammer still raised and quickly lowered it and pulled her shirt down into place. "I was fixing . . .something on the wall. I'll get out so you can wash."

She scooted out of the bathroom and around him, careful not to get soot on her. Without another word, she scampered down the hall with both hands holding her stomach. The door slammed shut behind her. Keith stared at it, an image of her torso floating around in his head. 

Bruises marbled her round belly. Myriad of colors from healing yellow to harsh purple danced across his eyes as if he had stared directly at a light for too long. And the hammer . . . 

It took him a long time to scrub away the dust and soot — dark water sluice between his feet and down the drain. Bending his head forward and washed his hair, eyes closed against the suds, and the image of her stomach and hammer was more vivid. 

She was trying to induce a miscarriage by blunt trauma with a hammer. Being in the foster care system had exposed him to grisly tales of unwanted pregnancies. Teenagers who were too afraid to tell their parents or guardians would take extreme methods to abort a pregnancy. Sometimes it worked, but many other times it backfired and sometimes fatally. 

Did Pidge know? Should he tell her, or was it any of his business? 


	2. Shiro, Bridget

**Shiro**

Sweat rolled down his back in long wet ticklish lines. The skin twitched in reflex, but he did not dare to relax and ease the pain in his muscles. How long have they been sparring? Three hours? Six hours? It could be twelve hours from the way his bones ached.

Sendak was a grueling trainer. He poised at the other end of the ring with a vibro sword in one hand, and his cybernetic arm bent at a defensive stance. He had exchanged his gauntlet for a cyborg arm similar to Shiro's, but each fingertip ended in a talon sharp enough to rip through protective gear as Shiro had learned time and time again during their sparring sessions.

He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, Sendak was coming for him with the speed and might of an oncoming train. Shiro brought his sword up in time to block the blow that would have taken his head off. The blades crackled, throwing sparks of energy into their faces as the weapons locked together — Shiro back-peddled to prevent his arm from being broken from the pressure.

Sendak dropped and swept a leg across Shiro's legs, knocking him off balance. Shiro took the fall, landing on his back and tucking his knees to roll backward. Sendak wasn't going to give him a chance to regain his feet, so he slashed out with his weapon to grant him enough space to gain his footing and retaliate. A flurry of blows forced Sendak to step back and then another. 

If he couldn't find an opening, he'd make one. Gathering his strength, he dealt a blow that smashed against the tremendous fighter's defenses. The sword was thrown upward, leaving his side exposed. Shiro grasped the hilt in one hand and cupped it with the other and swung to shoved the hot energy blade into Sendak's side.

Pain ripped through him. Every nerve in his body burned, and his bones crackled. The sword fell from twitching fingers, and he collapsed in convulsions. When the pain finally stopped, it was like his bones filled with water. Heavy and sluggish, he rolled onto his side and mustered up enough anger to give Sendak a hateful scowl.

The giant loomed over him, peering at him from a gold eye and a crimson optic. An amused smirk revealed the edge of a sharp tooth, and Sendak prodded him with the toe of a boot. "Get up. It isn't time for rest yet."

Shiro bit the inside of his cheek to hold his tongue. The weight of the collar at his throat reminded him of what would happen if he dared to talk back. How was this a fair match, he would say if he could, if every time I could make a killing blow, my collar activates? 

The black band around his throat was thick like a junkyard dog's collar. It felt like metal to the touch, but it had the flexibility of leather. The sentries held him down while one fitted it around his throat. Any attempts to remove it without authorization would trigger more nerve-wracking agony.

Shiro drew the sword back into a pose for the next round. With a mocking grin, Sendak lowered his massive body into another fighting position. This time Shiro didn't have to wait long for the next attack.

Sendak moved faster than his bulk should allow. This time he came in from low, and Shiro blocked the strikes with each one nearly lifting him off his feet. Sendak spun, and Shiro kept his eye on the sword but failed to see a hammer-like fist coming at him like a missile. It smashed into his face, and for several terrifying seconds, he couldn't see anything. When his vision returned, Shiro saw the floor was dotted with blood dripping from his mouth and a tiny white shard. Upon closer examination, he realized it was a tooth.

Damn, he got his teeth knocked out after all. 

Drawing his blood seemed to satisfy Sendak, and he decreed it was time for rest. It was all Shiro could do to pick up the tooth and stand. A medic came over, plucked the tooth from his fingers, and wrenched his mouth opened. Shiro endured field dentistry, which repositioned his tooth back into place and healed with a squirt of Fast Heal, which tasted foul. Then Sentries collected him, shackling his hands, and half-carried him to a cell. They stripped him down and hosed off the sweat and blood. Drenched, he stood in the cold until Bunto dried him off with a towel and dressed him in fresh prison garb. Then he was allowed to eat and sleep. 

The cell was no bigger than the one from the slave pits, but it offered an actual bed and shelf, though he had no possessions to store. The food was placed on a small table bolted to the floor with a thin chair. It was enough to support his weight, but wouldn't be suitable as a weapon which was the intention. 

The meal was no longer the ration paste, which had been his main diet for two years. A portion of meat with a side of steamed vegetables spiked his appetite. Granted, it was of unknown sources, but he would never complain of eating anything other than that damn paste for the rest of his life. He chewed with one side of his mouth, mindful of his sore tooth. 

Lying down eased the strain and aches in his bones, drawing a deep sigh of contentment from him. He stretched everything from fingers and toes, muscles twitching. Shiro imagined he would be in worse shape tomorrow when he rose to do his stretches. 

What was the purpose of it? The training? The tests? Was Sendak grooming him into becoming a soldier for the Empire? Or was it more of their sick mind games and experiments?

How was Bridget? His thoughts drifted to the red-headed Irish woman who was also a prisoner of the Galra. Trapped upon a pleasure station and forced to entertain the soldiers. It was at the whim of the Emperor that they had met and remained in each other's orbit. How long this would last, he was uncertain. Many times Shiro was tempted to inquire of Bridget's status but feared that bringing attention to her could put her in danger.

His only hope was to go along with their demands and wait. Patience yield focus. One day, they would drop their guard and inadvertently create a means of escape though he would not leave without Bridget. Somehow, someway, he will find her and take her home to Earth. They would both go home together.

  
  
  


**Bridget**

This time I wasn't alone. There were two others in a similar state as I. Naked save for trinkets and covered in powder and perfume. We're standing side by side like cars at a dealership. And like those cars, we were being assessed with lustful eyes and the fundamental need to dominate. 

The coolness of the room turns my nipples into hard tips. They're the only part of me allowed to make any comment on the temperature. The rest of me smiles invitingly, sometimes lowering my eyes demurely lest they misconstrued me as impudent. 

"I always enjoy a girl with more than two hands," a gruff-voiced Galra said with a nod at the unilu girl at my right. 

Trika gives him a coy smirk and spreads her four arms apart with all hands giving him a seductive beckoning motion. She was the most dressed of us with a sarong around her narrow hips. Her skin was light blue with burgundy nipples dotting apricot breasts. She's funny and always had something witty to say, but was a touch too daring for her own good. More than once, her barely concealed bits of sarcasm had her punished. After one particular brutal flogging, I helped her to her room, and Trika drew me inside with a request I help her forget the pain. Our entanglement lasted a week. I enjoyed her company as a friend, but she was too overbearing for a lover.

"I like the other one." His voice drew chills over my skin, and I was happy it wasn't me he was referring.

The girl on the other side of me was trembling. She was new and almost too young to be here. I wondered if her indoctrination had gone wrong for her to be this scared. A sheen of sweat covered her red flesh and the chimes hanging from her horns jingled and twirled in the light from her quivering. I wish I could tell her to stop showing fear as it attracted the wrong sort of patrons, but it was too late. A brute had already set his sights on her, and there was nothing to be done about it. 

Finally, it was my turn to be the center of attention. 

"Her skin . . . it reminds me of a pale worm." 

My smile faded slightly, which was allowed as my appearance was being insulted. It was alright to be hurt or humiliated, but anger or outrage was forbidden. And even pride had limits.

I felt none of these things. If they sent me away to ask for another, then that was just as well for me. 

"Come here, pale thing," a voice from the center muttered. Long fingers with claws that could slice open my belly hooked the thin gold chain around my hips and drew me several steps forward. 

I was turned around and examined. My eyes focused on the far wall as my body was pinched, prodded, and caressed. If I couldn't enjoy their attention, then no reaction was better than a negative one. Then a hard slap across my buttocks startled me, and I yelped. It had hurt, and a perfect imprint of a giant hand glowed hotly on my skin.

"I like her flesh. It's pale but very soft and sensitive."

I was set onto a knee, claimed at last, and then savored. My mouth had already opened to accept a deep kiss and tongue. The wine was on The patron's tongue, and I could taste the cedair on his breath.

A fearful moan drew my eye. The girl was being pulled along into an alcove. It reminded me of a lion or large cat grabbing a slab of meat and carrying it off to be devoured in the privacy of a den. There was no help for her.

The unilu was tangling herself around the one who chose her. Her hands dipped into parts of the Galra's body and bringing him to a sexual high. Careful, I thought to her. Or you'll be accused of jerking him off to end it too soon. 

The following slaps followed hard and sharp, and I flinched each time. Showing pain was acceptable as long as it was a reaction they wanted. Each time he marveled as to how pink my skin would become, and as I began to fear, this is what my time with him would be his partner had an idea.

"I want to watch them."

It wasn't the first time I had sex with another courtesan to entertain our Galra masters. Usually, they wanted to see females together, but there have been males involved too. 

The unilu grinned as she drew me close onto a settee. A hand slipped between my thighs and another grasp at my breast as she lowered me onto my back. She was too eager to get me off when I wanted to take my time for a slow build towards a climax. Being an unilu, she values quantity over quality even when it comes to orgasms. More the better in her mind, when I wanted to enjoy intimacy with a slow rise to a powerful climax.

Her lips were close to my ear, catching lobe for a swirl of the tongue. "How many times do you think I can get you to orgasm before they join?"

I shook my head. Private talk between courtesans was forbidden, and I was already on thin ice with Madame Floentha. 

There was a muffled cry from the alcove and a cruel laugh — poor girl.

"Sucks to be her," Trika muttered. 

I silenced her with a hard kiss and applied enough pressure to press my teeth against her lips in a near bite. She responded by painfully twisting my nipple. Before I could retaliate, they joined us. Throughout, I listened to the girl weeping and the sickening sounds coming from the alcove.

We were all bruised and sore by the time we walked to the showers. We could bathe in our rooms, but no one wants to walk across Zenana covered in spunk and sweat. The hot water blasted the soil off my body, and I pointedly ignored the unilu who made a point of showering well away from me. Our affair didn't end on good terms.

The girl was sobbing beneath a spigot in the corner. I didn't want to hear her crying, but nor could I ignore it. With a resolute sigh, I turned off the water, grabbed a towel, wrapped it around me, and approached her. She was sitting on the tile floor with her face in her hands. 

"Do you need a doctor?" I asked. It wasn't uncommon for a Galra to get too rough.

"No," she whimpered. "I want to go home."

"Don't we all," I said, but not unkindly. "You shouldn't have shown fear. It's a drug to them, and it'll attract the ones you don't want as patrons."

"How can I not be afraid?" the girl whimpered, turning chestnut-colored eyes to me. "It. . . It was my . . . my first . . ."

"Oh God," I moaned. A virgin? Most courtesans brought to Zenana had a sexual experience. Unlike one of Earth's fetishes of deflowering virgins, Galra preferred their lovers to be more experienced. They believe a man or woman who've had sex many times before would know how to give pleasure to others. 

Likely this girl had been a tribute or a tithe to the Empire. Or perhaps her village was raided by slavers. She was too fresh and green to have been a slave all her life. This girl had her freedom until it was stolen from her. 

"Do you have a mentor?" I asked.

"Yes, he said I had to sink or swim," she whimpered.

God, a hands-off mentor, was the worst. They wanted the credit and privilege of being one without doing the work. If I had such a mentor when I first came to Zenana, I would be dead or catatonic.

"Listen, if you want to survive in this hellhole," I said, kneeling until I was on her eye level. "Learn how to hide your fear. If you can't act happy to see them, act mindless or foolish. Better to be thought of as stupid than defiant. And try to get patrons you can serve well. Don't be afraid of the larger or older ones. They're the ones who know what they want and how to control their strength. And they don't have anything to prove, unlike the younger Galra. If one of them likes you well enough, then they'll introduce you to their comrades, and you'll gain more patrons . . ."

"I don't want patrons," she snapped. "I want to go home!"

I stared at her for a long time. "So do I . . . so do I."

"Then how can you enjoy this?" she sobbed, thin shoulders shaking. 

"If you believe that, then I'm doing a pretty good job of acting, aren't I?" I left. I had done what I could. It would be up to her to fail or succeed. Like I did before, she would have to wrap her head around being in Zenana and learn how to survive. 

Surprisingly, the unilu followed me from the showers, swaddled in a thick towel and her arms. Her dark hair hung in wet tendrils down her neck, which I gave a wistful eye. She was quite fetching, even if I didn't agree with her sexual tendencies. 

"You ought to become a mentor," she said.

Was she trying to approach me with an olive branch? I paused, turning to face her. "No, I don't think so. Madame Flo wouldn't dare let me influence the minds of young recruits. I might teach them bad habits."

What I didn't say, or wouldn't, was that I had no wish to aid Zenana in rape and brainwashing. I gave the girl tips on surviving, not on how to enjoy being here. 

Trika chuckled a lower hand teasing a finger along my arm. "I have information about your Champion."

I stiffen as if a bolt of lightning had hit me. "You have? Where is he?"

I haven't seen or heard from Shiro for nearly a month. He was no longer in the arena, and there was no word of what was done with him. For a while, I was beginning to fear he had died after all.

Her lower hand closed around my arm and drew me to her. "What will you give me to know?"

I should have known she would try to use what she knew to get something from me. She was an unilu after all, a trader and merchant race better known for piracy and smuggling. Being a head taller than me, I stood on tiptoe down and braced my hands on her shoulders. "What do you want?"

"You. Three hours a day for a week."

"Nice try, but try again. If you can find out, then others can and would ask for less," I said dryly. 

I pushed her almost harder than I intended against the wall. Without being offended, she locked her lower arms at my back and flushed mine against her. "One hour a day for three days, perhaps?"

I shook my head. "One more time."

"A kiss and that necklace you received from Admiral Harint?" 

I pretended to weigh it and nodded, "Deal. Kiss now or . . .?"

She pressed her mouth against mine, and I embraced her, giving in to it entirely. We have both been in Zenana long enough to know how to kiss and be kissed. Heat flooded my chest and poured into my belly. If I didn't want her for a lover, I might have taken her first offer. 

I learned a few things about myself in Zenana. I discovered I was bisexual with a strong lean towards men. I had a thirst for vengeance against those who've harmed me. My relationship with God was tenuous at best. And I enjoyed sex when consensual and a good thing too.

In Zenana, consensual sex was the currency. To have control, to be free to give or take, was a joy. We didn't have to act for our masters with each other. We could express pain and desire as we wished without fear of reprisal or punishment. It was revitalizing. 

Trika whispered into my ear what I had bought. Shiro was being held by Commander Sendak, the Emperor's right-hand man, and former student. A sharp pain rippled across my shoulder as if his teeth were in my flesh right now. 

"What is Commander doing with the Champion?" 

With a shrug, she drew away. "Keeping him as a pet for all I know." 

"Thank you; I'll fetch the necklace now." 

"Bring it to my room later. I have a patron in an hour." She winked and departed. 

I tugged the towel back into place and went to my room with thoughts of what was happening with Shiro. 


	3. Jodi

Returning home with a new baby was a simpler affair than I expected. No relatives were waiting to gush over the new baby, nor any ceremony with bringing the baby inside the home and outing the baby to bed in the nursery as I expected on Earth with wholesome families. It was just simply returning home as if we had come back from a simple errand. 

Lirna and Alli were waiting in the kitchen for us playing with a puzzle. With only a brisk welcome for Alli, Director went to his study to work, leaving me alone to tend to the baby and the household with Lirna. 

The horned woman looked over the baby, stroking his cheeks and ruffling his ears. “You are very fortunate,” she said, eyeing Drix before raising her eyes to mine. “Your future has been assured.”

I realized she envied me my position and for a good reason. Being Surrogate to a Galra infant gave me a strong position within the household. Especially if you stayed on after the infant has outgrown needing you as they’ll continue to love you as their mother. There have been Galra who have cared for their Surrogates well into their venerable years. Lirna belonged to an old couple, and since Galra’s life spans were so long, chances were likely that she would grow too old to continue working for them. Her owners could pay the citizenship fees to free her, but being alone with no family or any means of support. If they passed away, then she would be given to the next of kin who may sell her if they have no room for an old slave. 

Alli’s reaction to her new baby brother was that of a neat freak seeing a roach in their kitchen. Her initial curiosity turned to hostility when she pulled his ear as if trying to rip it off. Lirna and I both admonish her as Drix howled. I forgot any trepidation of being punished or sent away when I harshly rebuked Alli.

“Do not do that!” I checked his ear and was relieved to see there no bleed or tear. I gave him a jiggle, and he calmed down, sniffling into my neck. A sudden wave of pain and anger came over me, and I shot Alli a disdainful look. “Do not pull on his ears like that. He’s only a baby, and you can hurt him doing that.” 

Scowling, she declared, “I don’t like him!”

“You don’t have to like him, just don’t hurt him.”

Alli screwed up her little face into a scowl and demanded I play with her. Anything to appease her, so I told her I would. Her being loud made me nervous, as I could imagine the Director coming out to investigate the noise and thinking I couldn’t handle his children.

She ran to get a game for us to play, and she returned with a bright blue ball. However, when she saw I was still holding Drix with no intention of putting him aside to give her my full attention, she pointed at him and demanded, “Put him away!”

“I can’t do that, Alli,” I said patiently. Drix had calmed down and had his head on my shoulder for a nap. Galra babies are very clingy in their first few months. They were like baby monkeys who held onto their mothers until brave enough to leave her presence. Drix was far too young for this stage, but Alli refused to understand.

“Give him to Lirna!” She ordered jabbing a finger at her. 

“I can’t do that,” I said, having the feeling I would be saying these words many, many times for Alli. “I’m his Surrogate, so I have to hold him. When he gets bigger, he can play with you too.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She looked at me as if I insulted her and threw the toy she was holding onto the floor. It burst into a shower of colorful pieces across our feet. “No! He’s stupid! I hate him!”

I was taken aback, unsure of what I should do, but Lirna was on her in a hot second. She seized Alli by the middle and carried her under one arm out of the room. The little Galra girl kicked and yowled in a fury, but Lirna didn’t stop nor slow her pace. I knelt to pick up the pieces of the toy with one hand while the other supported Drix against my shoulder.

Lirna returned no worse for wear for handling an angry Galra child and helped clean up the mess. “I had been explaining to her what it would mean to have a little brother,” Lirna said apologetically. “I’m afraid that Galra sibling rivalry is too ingrained in them for empathy and logic to be much use.”

“Humans have it too,” I said. “She was the baby of the family, but now she has to be a big girl and let the baby be the baby. I’ve seen it plenty of times.”

“I don’t know how humans are, but be watchful of Alli around Drix. If she’s willing to pull an ear at meeting him, then she might work herself up to doing something more harmful later.” Then she took touched my arm in a firm grasp. “Don’t be afraid to discipline her for bad behavior. Believe me in that you will go far easier on her than her father.”

Galra lead strict households and expect their children to follow suit like little soldiers. The whole controversy of using corporal punishment wasn’t present in Galra culture. They believed that pain encouraged discipline and gave focus, that it scoured away impurities and flaws. Galra have accidentally killed their children in a bid to make them stronger and bring order to their household. 

For the rest of the day, I kept Drix out of Alli’s sight to ward off any more tantrums. Eventually, she would have to acclimatize to his presence, and hopefully, by then, he’ll be old enough to play with her, or at least fend for himself against her. 

I had a busy day between placating Alli, tending to Drix, and learning the ropes of caring for a Galra household. Drix would wake up from his naps and demand to be fed. He was very impatient, believing every second he waited for the bottle was a step towards starvation and death. I paid attention to how often and how much he needed feeding. He tended to sleep afterward, but after waking, he’s alert and watchful. You could play with him then, but you better have a bottle ready for when he wanted it.

He had a good first day in his home. Other than having his ear pulled and a meltdown over not getting his bottle on time, there was no other crisis. Alli stalked at the edge of the doorway, glaring at us for making a fuss over him. 

When night fell, Lirna returned to her house and promised to come over tomorrow to help. I told her not to. I had to learn to make this work myself, and if I keep using her as a crutch, then I won’t be able to prove my worth to the Director. I had learned enough to get by, and I’ll learn the rest on my own. And she can’t help me with the last tough part of being a Surrogate.

And that was nesting with Drix and Alli. I had shared beds before with other children, but that was when I was a child myself. And never with a newborn and a small child together. Especially when one might have malicious intent towards the other, I had this horrible vision of waking up with a dead Drix and a satisfied Alli holding a pillow.

Unlike other children I had dealt with, Alli was excited about going to bed. She squirmed as I struggled to dress her in her purple nightshirt while Drix seemed pretty mellow as I put him in a onesie that accommodated his tail. I set Drix down just long enough to change into a pair of white pajamas provided by the auction house. Then I took Drix into the nesting room with Alli practically skipping behind me. 

I didn’t understand Alli’s excitement until I saw that her father would be joining us. He was wearing loose black pants, which served as pajama bottoms. I quickly lowered my eyes, so I wasn’t looking directly at him, but the glimpse I got was that he looked tired, likely from either stress or working all day. 

Alli darted towards him, grasping his leg and hoped as if she considering climbing him. It seemed it had been a long time since he had nested with his children, and it was a cause for celebration to her. How long had it been? Since he and his ex-wife agreed to divorce? 

Thinking of her brought back the memory of her framed in the doorway, asking to see her son. I wondered how Alli felt when her mother moved out? And if she understood the reason why?

My heart raced in my chest. The Director had made no inclinations towards me, and I doubted anything would happen with two small children between us. Yet, I was still wary of sleeping next to him. Not that I could do anything if he wanted me. Signing away my rights as a citizen and his being a Galra meant he didn’t need my consent to have me. And by refusing him, he could punish me or sell me. 

“Alli, be still,” he told his daughter as she clawed at his arm. He was lowering himself into the nest and gathering her into his arms. “I’m only here until you fall asleep.”

It put my fears to rest, and I thought myself foolish for thinking he would try anything with his kids around. I could relax again, but I was still apprehensive as I knew he would be watching me and seeing how well I care for his children. 

The nest was surprisingly comfortable. The material reminded me of memory foam, which was firm while succumbing to weight. I curled onto my side and propped Drix against my side with a hand steadying him. He watched Alli with fascination as she crawled all over her father, who was trying to get comfortable. 

The Director made a noise between a snarl and a cough, and Alli backed away with her ears laid back. It startled Drix, who made a surprised keening noise. I comforted him but kept a cautious eye on the Director as it had started me too. It wasn’t anything to be concerned about. It was a sound Galra parents made to warn an unruly child to stop acting up, or there was going to a consequence.

The Director reached over for Drix, which I relinquished with some hesitation. I had become so accustomed to holding him, that it felt strange not to have him next to me. Drix wasn’t too sure he wanted to do without me but changed his mind when his father began purring. It was a rich, deep sound that came from his chest and throat, pleasant and soothing. The infant squirmed as his father nuzzled his tummy and ears. He was still wary of this colossal stranger but didn’t see a threat for the moment.

Alli realizing that she could have me for herself crawled onto my lap. Without thinking about it, I curled my arms around her and held her close. As much as I dislike her antagonism towards Drix, I sympathized with her. I knew what it was like to be passed over for the new baby. 

“What do you like to eat for breakfast?” I asked her.

“Lirna made Grilly Puffs.”

Thank God that Grilly Puffs was a box of cereal in which there were two in the kitchen. Lirna made a point of showing them to me and said they were Alli’s favorite cereal. “She’d eat them for lunch and dinner too if the Director lets her.”

“Alright, I’ll fix you Grilly Puffs first thing in the morning,” I promised. 

That earned me a hug and a little purr from her. As I held her, I realized that something was missing. Or someone. I had forgotten entirely about the first and eldest child of the household, Matrim. 

He was considered too old to nest until he had kits of his own. 

Then it was time for sleep. Drix was passed back to me. Alli had a conniving look in her eye, but with her father watching, she resigned to shifting off my lap. It wasn’t long before the kits filled the air with their soft snores. I felt Drix’s small chest rise and fall beneath my hand and watched Alli stir in her sleep with arms above her head. 

My eyes caught the Director’s, and I quickly looked away. He was watching the kids sleeping too, but his eyes were distant as if thinking of something far away. Was it about the divorce? Was he missing his wife? Or was he worried about a future without an extra kid and no wife? 

It would be a significant change for anyone. I had undergone so many changes in my life that I didn’t think anything about broken homes. The kids will adapt, and eventually, the Director will find another wife, and the thought jolted me.

I was just gaining my feet with this family, but if the Director remarried, that meant a new lady of the house would come. She may bring her own servants or, worse, more children. Would I be pushed out if that happened?

No, not until Drix was old enough to do without, I reminded myself. I was safe until then, and if I could prove myself too valuable to let go, then they would want to keep me around. 

Before long, the Director rose from the nest to keep from disturbing the sleeping kits and left the room. With him gone, I could finally relax and sleep. It was the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in a long time.


	4. Bridget

My curls had an age-old feud with hairbrushes. They resisted any straightening devices and products, resuming their tight little formations by the end of the hour. My enslavement hadn’t changed their temperament towards styling, and my poor scalp was in the crosshairs. I gingerly teased the brush through the nest of a bedhead I awakened to. 

There was an audience sitting behind me, watching me groom. He wasn’t exactly a patron and nor was he one of the Elites. It wasn’t uncommon for patrons to bring a plus one along for a visit. Mostly it was low ranking soldiers they wished to reward or favor with a visit to Zenana. Other times it was family members they wished to motivate into doing better in service to the Empire. 

The young Galra watching me from the bed was the son of a guest. Still in the Academy and had taken leave from his studies to vacation in Zenana with his father. Fortunately, for my state of mind, he wasn’t a child but a young adult in Galra terms with gangly limbs and an eagerness that borderline on being puppylike. 

In the mirror, I watched him rise from the bed, nearly tripped as his long legs tangled in the sheets, and almost collided into me from behind. It took all my experience as a courtesan not to flinch when he plucked the brush from my hand and began brushing my hair. It wasn’t uncommon for patrons to groom me. Being catlike, they took pleasure in grooming and being groomed. Since my time here, I’ve been bathed, hair brushed, and lotion massaged into my skin, so this shouldn’t be anything new, but there was something about this youngling that unsettled me.

I’ve served many different types of patrons and guests, both knowing and unsure of what they wanted from me. The ones who knew, I catered to, the uncertain ones I levied a bit of control over the encounter. This one . . .this one was different somehow. 

He requested me before he had even arrived at Zenana with his father. I supposed there was a ‘menu’ of sorts for those coming to Zenana so they could make selections before arriving. Still not unusual to have a curious guest request me, but it was how he looked at me that caught me off guard. He kept staring at me. Granted, I was there to be looked at, but he just stared at me from the moment I arrived at the lounge as his companion’s choice. The first time I touched him, to take his arm, he jumped as if I had stabbed him. For a scary moment, I thought I had done something to offend him. It wouldn’t be the first time I had unintentionally angered a patron by a thoughtless action or careless word. 

Then he took my hand in his and squeezed it hard enough almost to hurt. Since then, he wouldn’t stop touching me; brushing my shoulder, holding my hand, taking my arm to walk with him, and caressing my face whenever he wasn’t talking with his father or other Galra. 

And that didn’t touch upon the awkward sex. In the beginning, I was afraid he was not only a virgin but didn’t know how to have sex. When he finally went into action, it was clumsy and ended before I could reach my climax. When he dozed off, it was a relief to be left alone for a while.

At least until now . . .

I kept my face blank and my head still while he ripped the brush through my stubborn curls. I could feel hair breaking and being ripped from the root, but I didn’t dare correct nor stop him. He seemed to be a lad of amicable personality, but I have seen enough patrons with hair-trigger tempers to give me caution. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said for the thousandth time. 

“Your words honor me, sir,” I said, too pained to feign flattery or blushing. I was only human and could only take so much before something had to be sacrificed before I began screaming.

“You’re more beautiful in person,” he said as he gave a sharp tug on the brush that made me flinch. 

I twisted it into a toothy grin, deciding that I needed to distract him from brushing my hair or risk losing it. “You’ve seen me before?”

I had figured that he was talking about the Zenana ads that provided courtesan dossiers. However, he set down the brush and went to his terminal with the excitement of a child presenting a finger painting from school. “Oh, yes. Many times! You have quite a following at my Academy.”

At his Academy? 

When Galra say Academy, they are referring to the hundreds of military schools across the Universe for Galra cadets. Some Academies were more prestigious than others, but they all served the same purpose of training the next generation of Galra soldiers. 

He was tapping away at the keyboard, bringing up the Galra internet they called the Dataspace, and then logging into it with his Identification code. I had access to their internet, but it was severely limited within the Zenana network. This kid was accessing the broader scope of the Dataspace and logging into a site I recognized as the Spiral. It was a form of social media like Facebook, but, knowing the Galra, it would be heavily monitored by admins for any treasonous ideology. 

“Here!” He said, scooting back to give me room to see. “Your profile is posted here with the others.”

He let me sit at the terminal and browse through the pages. It was a little against Zenana’s rules about giving slaves access to Galra information, but nothing that Sentries would be breaking through the door to arrest us. As I went through the pages, my heart skipped a beat, and my stomach clenched. It took me several minutes to figure out what I was looking at, and then it hit me hard.

It was a fansite dedicated to Zenana courtesans. I recognized a few faces of courtesans I see almost every day. Most of the pictures were poached from social media of patrons who had visited Zenana and had photos taken with courtesans. There was even video! With comments!

And there was mine. “Oh Lord in Heaven . . .”

He took my words to be a praise to my deity. “I share Imperial History with the student who set up your page. Look, there are even praises from cadets in Academies at the Helix Sector.”

There I was . . . As nude as the day I was born, lying on a bed half covered in a sheet, asleep with my right breast exposed to the Universe. My hair was a mop of curls, forming a huish halo around my head, and my face was peaceful from the deepest of sleep. When was this taken? Which patron snapped a picture of me asleep like this? My mind raced, but it kept drawing blanks, and why would they want a picture of me asleep?

There were others! One of me sitting at a table and sharing a drink with a patron. There was me sitting alone in the lounge awaiting a patron, and there I was walking in hand with a captain in the atrium. Some of them I remembered, others I didn’t.

What was worst was the comments. They ranged from lustful critiques about my appearance, to promises to rise in rank to have me, and crude denunciations that I wasn’t that attractive. It’s true what they say. Never ever read the comments. 

I looked at the youngling who had been fawning over me. Now I realized why he was acting so strange. He had been fanboying over me since the moment he arrived in Zenana.

I closed out the screen with a vow that I would never willingly look at these pages again and turned to my fan. “You’re going to want to have pictures taken with me, aren’t you?”

If it were possible for his face to glow, it would have lit up like the star of a Christmas tree. “Yes! And some of you alone! My friends will never believe me if I don’t bring them proof!”

“Do you want my autograph too?” It was a miracle that kept my voice from coming across as dry or dour.

“I hadn’t thought of that. I was going to request . . . well . . . .”

If he was going to ask for a pair of my underwear, I was going to start screaming and throwing things at him. I’ll take the resulting flogging. A beating was better than this humiliation. 

“ . . .I was going to request a lock of your hair.” 

When he said request, it wasn’t me he would be soliciting, but the Zenana staff. I picked up the hairbrush and handed it to him. “Here. Take this. There should be enough there for you and your friends.” 

“Sorry, but if they want souvenirs, then they’ll just have to work hard at being promoted! Or hope their fathers are,” he declared, taking the hairbrush from me as if it were a holy relic.

How nice, I’m a sex symbol for young Galra and a means of motivation to rise in ranks within the Empire so they could have a chance to fuck me. No one can say I never did my part in serving the Galra Empire.


	5. The Academy 1

Pain lanced through his arm - the blow had come unexpectedly. His opponent was quicker than he anticipated and had targeted his flesh arm on purpose. Shiro spun away, putting distance between them to give him time to check the injury and recover. The feeling was coming back to his arm, and he could move his fingers again. The limb wasn't broken, but there would be a nasty bruise in a few hours. Sweat rolled down his face and into his eyes, Shiro swiped a hand across them to keep his vision clear.

His opponent was circling him, taking pleasure in the fact he had scored a hit on the agile human slave. He was young with gangly limbs he had yet to grow into, and while young, he still had a foot on Shiro's six-foot height. The crowd of Galra students watching cheered their classmate as he swung his weapon in a flourish for their entertainment.

That was a mistake.

And Shiro took full advantage of it. He sprinted at the carefree student delivered a blow to the back of the knee. The kid dropped and spun at the hip, swinging his baton in a full arc, but Shiro blocked it with his cyborg's arm and drew back his fist and threw a brutal punch across the nose. The student rolled onto his back, gripping his nose as purple-tinted blood drizzled through his fingers.

A whistle sounded from the Instructor. Instantly, the students rose and stood at attention with a fist over their hearts. There was a warning throb at Shiro's throat, and he backed away to a safe distance before the collar would deliver a painful shock. Bunto was waiting with a container of cold water and a towel. All he needed was a knit cap to complete the allusion to a boxing manager prepping his fighter for the next round.

Shiro gratefully took the water from Bunto and downed it in three swallows and dropped onto his rear on the floor, making the most of this brief break. Between each bout, the Instructor would lecture the cadets and address the mistakes Shiro's opponent made during the engagement. He lamented poor weapon techniques and would shame them publicly when Shiro got the upper hand, which was quite often. There were never any praises for Shiro; in fact, his presence was barely acknowledged by the staff.

A week ago, Sendak had Shiro shipped to the Heart's Academy, the most prestigious military school of the Empire, as the Emperor sometimes visited to oversee training. Bunto explained that was why parents pushed their children to strive to attend this school above all others. Just for a chance to share the same air as the Emperor and receive the grand honor of being hand-chosen for a position on his ship, Central Command.

Shiro had been here for fives day, and for five days straight for twelve hours each, he had served as a fighting dummy. Each day a class of fresh face students, all willing and ready to prove themselves to their peers by making his life hell. From the sparring ring and the artificial field where they hunted him with low powered rounds, his body was a myriad of aches and pains from muscles that weren't given proper time to rest or bruises from whenever a student landed a hit. He was given only enough rest to sleep and to eat before he was brought to the training gym. Shiro suspected that his endurance was being tested, as was the student's combat prowess.

"You're doing great, Champ!" Bunto said as he patted Shiro's face dry of sweat. "Just like the arena, zero losses!"

Too tired to speak, Shiro took another long swallow of water and poured the rest over his head, enjoying the cold wetness rolling down the nap of his neck. How much longer would this go on? Was this a test of endurance? To see how long he could last fighting Galra?

One silver lining to all of this was he was learning Galra martial arts, techniques, and strategies. While he feigned being tired, he paid attention to what the Instructor taught the students in the hopes he could use it to escape this place one day. He was hopeful the Instructor had a lot to say so he could take more time for rest.

"Um, Champ, you might want to ignore what's about to happen," Bunto said in a low voice, his little hands fidgeting. "Your bleeding heart might not like it."

Shiro raised his head to see the student he had defeated still on the ground clutching his face. The Instructor, a fearsome man with a jagged crest and scar bisecting the side of his face, glowered down at the youth. The other students maintained their usual salute as the Instructor spoke, but this time they were unusually still, their eyes averted from their classmate. Shiro felt a chill go down his back, and it had nothing to do with the cold water. Something terrible was about to happen.

The Instructor spoke in a raspy tongue that indicated a previous throat injury at one point in his career. "Cadet Erat, we talked about your pride and vanity, did we not?"

The student, Erat, wheezed through his mouth and whispered, "Yes, sir."

"It cost you the victory. When you should have been finishing off your enemy, you were putting on a show. Are you a soldier or a clown, boy? You would rather be at the Space Mall dancing a little diddy for coins instead of serving your Emperor?"

"No, sir!" Erat cried, pushing himself onto his knees. The blood still rolled down his mouth and chin, dotting the floor.

"What is the Imperial salute?" The Instructor said, sardonically. "You should have learned it on your father's knee before you entered primary school. Tell me what it is and what it means."

"Vrepit Sa, sir. Victory or Death."

The tension in the air was stifling, and a sense of dread grew heavy in Shiro's stomach. The students maintained a frozen stance, none of them were willing to move lest they draw the teacher's ire to them.

"When you forsake your victory, you are choosing death, Cadet," the Instructor said gravely.

The hair on the back of Shiro's neck stood on end. Surely he wasn't going to kill the kid just for showing off? Then again, he was among aliens who didn't think nor share the same ideology or values as humans. The Instructor's hand went to his belt and unhooked a handle, and with a flip of a switch, a long purple cord of energy spiral from the end. A silent shudder rippled through the students - it was not their first time seeing the whip.

"No," Shiro breathed, disbelieving what he was about to see. He had noticed the handle before, but assumed it as a symbol of his authority, not a corporal tool!

"Do not fret, Cadet," the Instructor said, almost kindly. He flicked the whip, and it snaked across the floor. "I will scour that pride and vanity from you, so your loyalty to the Empire shines brightest."

The whip rose and was brought down with an air cutting whisper. The glowing tail crackled across Erat's back, cutting the uniform and flesh.  
The kid was strong enough to stay silent for the first five strokes, but after that, he couldn't stifle the screams that echoed in the large gym. Even as the student's back became a wall of cut flesh, the blows continued.

"When is he going to stop?" Shiro hissed at Bunto. "He's going to kill him!"

Bunto shrugged, "The kid's gotta learn. The pain will make him stronger, but if he dies, then that means he was too weak to serve the Empire. Isn't this how you were trained to fight?"

"No," Shiro growled.

Iverson had been a hardass and tough on cadets. He even threw a punch at one or two of the particularly difficult cases and only in extreme circumstances, but anything like this, especially not over small matters such as being a hotshot.

Shiro didn't realize he was moving until Bunto shouted, "No, Champ! Don't do it!"

He grabbed the wrist of the hand, holding the whip and twisted the arm behind the Instructor's back. The whip deactivated and fell on the floor, where he kicked it away.

"That's enough!" Shiro yelled, but it couldn't be heard over the deafened roar of outrage from the students.

The Instructor twisted around, snarling through his bared teeth, and his crest bristled in absolute fury. Shiro shoved a leg between the Instructor's and hooked an ankle across the shin and unbalanced him. They fell together with Shiro on top, effectively pinning the taller Galra.

Maybe I should have stopped when I was ahead, Shiro thought seconds before the collar activated.

A sharp pain filled him like water in a cup. He lost all function in his limbs, and sharp claws hauled him up. Blows rained down on him, but he couldn't feel them for the agony crawling throughout his body. Instinctively, to ward off further harm, he curled into a ball, tucking his head down between his arms.

_They are going to kill me. Out of all the combatants I've fought in the arena, I'm going to be done in by a gaggle of angry Galra cadets kicking me to death._

He would laugh if the pain weren't strangling him, then everything went pitch black.

***

When he came to, he was sporting one hell of a headache, and his whole body throbbed. It took several minutes for him to take stock of all his parts. Everything was there, and nothing was broken, but he still couldn't move. After some experimental movement, he discovered his ankles were shackled together, and his hands were bound behind him. And there was something across and under his mouth that kept it closed.

"Champ . . .Champ? Are you . . . awake . . .dead?"

Batting his eyes, he cleared his vision and saw Bunto sitting on a chair with his short legs dangling off the edge like a child sitting at a dead man's wake. When the little Galra saw he was awake, he hopped off the chair and scurried to Shiro with eyes bright in elation.

"You're alive! I thought they killed you!" Bunto exclaimed, then his face fell. "And they might still do so."

With his vision more focused, he saw they were inside a detention center cell. It was similar to the ones they had in the Garrison. It wasn't unthinkable for the Galra to have them here.

He tried to speak through the gag, but the strap beneath his chin prevented him from opening his mouth to do so.

Bunto must have seen the questioning look in his eyes and shrugged his blunt shoulders and said, "The Academy sentries busted in and broke up the students before they could turn you into a sticky mess on the floor. Then High Commander Sendak came in, and I thought every fur on my body was going to go white! He was pissed!"

Shiro couldn't have cared less what Sendak thought of the whole situation, but the fear in Bunto's large was real and tangible. He had seen Sendak amused, serious, and even sneering, but never angry. At least, not yet.

He made another inquisitive noise, and Bunto shook his head. "I don't know what they're gonna do. The Emperor's Mother! You attacked an instructor - they execute students for that here!"

Though he wasn't looking forward to it, Shiro didn't really fear death. Since his imprisonment, he had longed for it and tempted by it, but dying would leave Bridget alone in this hell.

It many hours before they came for him; two sentries with the Academy's logo on their chassis plates hefted him up and carried him by the arms and shoulders from the cell. Bunto started to follow them, but one of the sentries ordered him to return to his quarters until specified otherwise.

Shiro hoped the little Galra wouldn't share the blame. He was only brought along to see to his needs - a loathsome task most Galra thought beneath them. Would they see it as a failure on his part that Shiro attacked another Galra?

Whatever was going to happen to him was going to be bad enough without another sharing the blame . . .

They took him back to the now-empty training hall where Sendak and the Instructor were waiting. The High Commander filled the large gym with his presence, glaring at Shiro with the fury of a smoldering volcano. But there was an anticipatory glint in his eye and the corner of his lips was almost curling upward. The Instructor had his teeth bared and looked as if he wanted to lunge for Shiro's throat.

Two figures were standing off to the side, the walls of the gym. At first, he couldn't make them out any details other one was much shorter than the other. The shorter one didn't have that Galra stature he was so accustomed to seeing in others. The sentries dumped him onto his knees and held him in place with heavy metal hands on his shoulders. He was pulled back so he could look up at the displeased Sendak.

He was expecting a lecture, punishment, threats, anything from Sendak - but he was not prepared for what happened next.

Without a word, Sendak raised a hand towards the duo, and at his summons, they approached. Shiro's eyes went wide, and in his panic, he lunged forward. The sentries hauled him back and set him upright, one of them grasped him by the hair and forced his head back to see her approaching.

The shorter figure was Bridget.

She wasn't garbed in the usual silk dress but wearing casual clothing - a soft blue shirt and trousers. Her hair was unbound and almost floated like a cloud about her head in freed curls.

He screamed through the gag for her to run away - to flee, not to go anywhere near Sendak, but his warnings came out as a strained moan. All he could do was shake his head to convey his warning. God, she looked so small standing among these monsters. She was staring down at the floor, not daring to look at the Galra, Sendak most of all.

The High Commander was looking down his nose at her, like a monster contemplating tearing her head off. "Do you know why you were summoned, human?" He said human as one would say cockroach, rat, or shit.

Shiro struggled against to twist free, but the sentries' strength was absolute. Bridget glanced at him for the briefest moment, then kept her eyes focused on the floor.

"No, sir," she whispered. There was a slight tremor in her voice.

"Did you not teach this one how to show respect? Or any of the etiquette expected of those who serve the Galra?" Sendak's voice was smooth like the polished metal of a blade.

A wave of confusion crossed her face, and her eyes shifted to Shiro, who was just as puzzled by Sendak's accusation. "I . . . I don't . . .I don't understand . . ."

"That fails to surprise me," Sendak said dryly and pointed the fearsome gauntlet at Shiro. "This one refuses to show the smallest sign of respect to the Galra. He does not bow to his superiors, and he speaks casually and rudely to his betters. He stares boldly at Galra as if to challenge them or, most disgustingly of all, as if they were his equals."

Bridget swallowed, "I'm so sorry."

"I could have contributed it to stubbornness and stupidity," Sendak continued as if Bridget hadn't spoken, "but he has attacked an Academy Instructor in front of his students during a lesson. A most serious offense for a slave."

_He was whipping a kid just for showing off!_ Shiro yelled through the gag,_ Don't touch her! Don't you fucking touch her!_

"I'm very sorry," Bridget whispered. Apologizing and appeasement was her only defense.

"Upon hearing of the Champion's assault on Instructor Merrick, my first inclination was to punish him by having him flogged a hundred lashes," Sendak's crimson optic gleamed as he switched his gaze to Shiro. "After some consideration, I realized he was not at fault, not completely. It is you that should be punished for his actions."

Dread filled his stomach to the point he thought he would puke. If only he would, they would be distracted from her while he choked on his own vomit.

Frightened tears fell from her face, giving her the appearance of a hollow doll about to be smashed by a cruel child. "I'm sorry."

"Failing to teach him proper manners, is failing the Empire, the Emperor Himself," Sendak sneered, twisting the knife. "Do you believe you should be punished for such a sin?"

_Tell him that you tried to teach me, but I wouldn't listen! Put the blame on me! I can take whatever he dishes out!_

Bridget closed her eyes, the tears down her face. Resigning herself to whatever may come, she whispered, "Yes sir."

For the first time, Sendak turned his gaze to Shiro. His lips molded into a satisfied smirk, then hardening into a glare for Bridget. "Do not fear. Too many of my compatriots would be disappointed if I have your flesh carved up by a whip." Sendak raised his head to the Instructor. "Proceed."

It happened so fast that Bridget couldn't react in time. In one smooth motion, as if practiced, the Instructor grabbed Bridget's shoulder, spun her around, and delivered a backhand slap which resounded throughout the gym. A line of blood drew down her chin, and before she could touch the injury, another brutal slap knocked her to the floor.

Shiro screamed against the gag, surging forward. He managed to get his feet beneath him, but the sentries forced him down onto his front. They twisted his head upward to force him to watch Bridget curling up into a ball as a large foot kicked her two, three, four times. Since the start of his captivity, he thought he had known what helplessness was - until now. Seeing Bridget being hurt to punish him was ripping out his insides.

"Enough."

The Instructor stopped with his foot swung back for the fifth kick and stepped back. Bridget's prone body trembled, and her shoulders hitched as she sobbed. His own tears rolled down his face; as he wished hard as hell, it was him in her place.

"Get her up," Sendak ordered the Zenana escort.

"She needs a minute, sir," the escort said impassively as he knelt by her side. He stroked her arm and speaking soothingly as if she were a child who had just been spanked. "Your punishment is over, so stop crying. Stand up before you get more of the same."

It may be an odd moment, but Shiro realized for the first time that the escort wasn't Takor. And in the most ironic sense, Shiro wished the mismatched eyed Galra was here. Surely if Takor were here, he wouldn't have stood by and watched this happen to Bridget. Would he?

With the help of the escort, Bridget stood up and collected herself. Bloodstained her mouth and her cheeks were red from the slaps, but all the same, she kept her head bowed at a respectful angle as her lips trembled.

"I do not believe that was enough punishment for your failure, do you, human?" Sendak said in a heavy tone.

Bridget flinched, biting her lower lip. "No, sir . . .I have failed the Empire, and I deserve to be punished for it."

Again, Sendak looked at Shiro and slightly inclined his head towards Bridget with a questioning look. Impossible fury flowed through Shiro, and his eyes narrowed as he met Sendak's eyes. The questioning look continued, and the eye narrowed until Shiro nodded. _Message received, you cruel fuck! Now leave her alone!_

"You will atone for your failure," Sendak said, turning back to Bridget and regarding her distastefully as if she were a dog that made a mess on the carpet. "You will be staying at the Academy for the foreseeable future to teach him the proper etiquette for a slave."

"Yes, sir," Bridget said.

"And you will be entertaining High Ranking students and the staff as well," Sendak said with the air of someone handing out a chore list.

Bridget didn't flinch at all when she said, "Yes, sir."

"Now, thank the instructor for showing you the errors of your way," Sendak ordered, "and get out of my sight."

Like a broken automaton, Bridget turned to the waiting instructor and bowed deeply with her arms across her chest. "Thank you for correcting me, sir."

Without another word or sign of acknowledgment, Bridget and her escort were dismissed. Shiro's eyes switched between the High Commander and the retreating back of only other human in this part of the Universe. Was she going to be okay? Would her escort take her to have her injuries treated? What was going to happen to her later?

There was a throaty sound, just short of a growl, that drew Shiro's attention back to Sendak. "Remove his gag."

One of the sentries unharnessed the gag, and the constant grip on his mouth and jaw instantly relaxed. Shiro opened his mouth wide and stretched his aching jaw, but never once lowered his gaze from Sendak's.

"Champion," Sendak said in a low drawl that carried potential violence. "Are we going to have any more problems from you?"

If it was possible to burn with hatred, Shiro was experiencing it now. "No."

The massive Galra's head inclined, and an eye ridge rose. "No?"

It was hard to swallow, but Shiro managed it. He bowed his head, eyes on the floor, and said in a low voice, "No, sir."

* * *

If it was possible to be so emotionally sick to the point that one could have symptoms of an illness, Shiro was experiencing it now. His skin felt hot and sweaty, and his hands ached to punch something, anything. He couldn't sit still nor bring himself to eat or drink anything after they brought him to his cell.

Sensing his fury, Bunto had quietly left his meal on the table and disappear without a word. It was for the best that he made a hasty retreat. It wasn't that Shiro would have harmed him, but he would have demanded answers to questions that Bunto couldn't answer.

Why punish an innocent so brutally for his actions? Where was Bridget? What was going to happen to her?

Patience yields focus.

The mantra brought him a surreal sense of peace, an easing of the tension in his head and shoulders. The helpless fury released its grip on him but remained at the periphery of his emotions. Drawing slow, deep breaths and emptying his mind, Shiro was able to go into a brief meditative state and collect his thoughts.

It was with clarity that he accepted it wasn't possible to help Bridget, at least not right now. What was done is done, and dwelling on it wouldn't change what happened to her. It seemed the Galra didn't wish to harm her any more than they already had, and as long as he played by their rules, they won't have any reason to do so again.

For now, he needed to put this excess of energy towards something positive. For the next half hour, he exercised his usual routine of pushups and crunches until he was tired and hungry. The food had cooled, but he ate every bite to keep his strength up for whatever would come next. Having a full stomach, the emotional turmoil, and physical exertion was enough for him to fall asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Unfortunately, his sleep was not peaceful.

In his dream, he was restrained and gagged again in the training hall, but this time Bridget wasn't there. It was Keith defending himself against a group of students attacking him with swords and clubs. All the youth had to defend himself was the small knife; the one that belonged to his father. They surrounded him, hungry for the kill, teeth flashing, and amber eyes glowing. Shiro screamed through the gag for Keith to run, to leave him behind, but the youth threw himself at the Galra with the savagery of a wild animal.

Gasping, Shiro woke up and sat up so quick it made him dizzy. It took him several moments to see he was back in his cell and realize it was just a bad dream. Keith was back on Earth. . . but was he safe? Or even still alive?

No, focus. . .he couldn't waste his energy worrying about someone so far away. If he can't help Bridget, he certainly couldn't help Keith, and the youth could look after himself.

The door hissed open to admit Bridget carrying a tray with two plates, cups, and a pitcher. She was still wearing the blue casual outfit from yesterday, but her face had been washed and hair tied back in a curly tail. Oddly enough, there were no bruises on her face, nor any sign of the beating.

"Hi," she said, almost shyly. "Did you . . .sleep well?"

"What about you!? Oh God, Bridget, are you alright?" He stood up to take the tray from her and set it on the table so quickly it nearly overturned the pitcher.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she said as he took her arms and drew her closer for a better look. He still couldn't see any trace of a bruise or injury on her face. "They treated me with Fast Heal, so I'm back to one hundred percent. See, no marks or bruises."

"I'm sorry . . ." Shiro said, knowing that there would never be enough words to convey his remorse. "If I had known . . .

Bridget halted his apology with a touch on his shoulder. "It's alright. I'm fine. I've been through worse than that. Some of those tears were me playing it up so they wouldn't go too rough on me."

He couldn't tell whether she was telling him the truth or was being a good actress. She had once tried to hide a fresh bite mark from him, and there was no knowing what all she had endured in Zenana. Her smile was meant to be reassuring, but it bothered him. It was too bright, too . . .normal for someone who had been hurt and possibly raped last night.

_She had been a courtesan for more than a year by now. It's become routine for her. Just like me, I am constantly fighting with little rest. It's my new normal too._

"What happened?" Bridget asked. "You attacked a teacher during a lesson?"

Shiro sighed, almost angry with himself for being so impulsive. How many times had he scolded Keith for such behavior? If he had only stopped to think back, then Bridget wouldn't have been hurt on his account. "The teacher was beating a student for showing off. I intervened because I thought he was going to kill the kid."

"I see," Bridget said, lowering of her shoulders as if she had been holding her breath. "I was . . . I was afraid that you had . . . that this had become too much for you."

"I haven't snapped. At least, not yet," Shiro said. "You shouldn't have taken the blame like that. You should have told them that you tried to teach me, and I blew you off."

Bridget sadly shook her head and turned to the table. Picking up the pitcher, she filled the two cups with a burgundy-colored liquid that carried a spicy scent. "They didn't bring me out here just for the High Commander to shake a finger at me. I was going to be hurt no matter what I said or did . . . maybe more so because I would have been 'talking back.'"

_I'm sorry._

Remembering those words galled him. Every accusation, she accepted with a humble apology until they finally punished her for the perceived offense. Even now, she was shrugging it off as it was just a past annoyance or inconvenience. It was good to be strong in a situation like this, but she seemed too okay . . .if that was possible.

Bridget set the plates on the table and scooted the tray out of the way. "Let's eat while it's hot. I recognize the dish, and it's pretty good. It actually tastes a little like bacon."

"I'm not really hungry right now, and I still have questions," he said, sat down on the bed, still tired and aching. His body still needed time to recover from the constant combat. Perhaps the silver lining in all of this was he was finally going to rest for a while.

"Sure, we can talk. I'm supposed to teach you how to behave around Galra."

If Shiro had been hungry before, he would have lost his appetite after hearing those words.

***

Bridget wasted no time launching into what he dubbed a lecture on kissing Galra ass. "Here are the basics, and they're pretty simple. Never speak unless spoken to and never look directly at them. They'll see it as a challenge, so try to keep your eyes below their chest level."

He listened and stared at her, finding it so eerie that she talked about catering to their captors as if she were giving a demonstration on classroom rules and etiquette. He knew she was strong, she'd have to be to have survived the Galra for so long, but her recovering so quickly after the beating and trauma unnerved him. Did this mean that she was accustomed to being hurt by them? Or was the drugs in the collar that strong?

He wasn't sure if he really wanted to know.

"If they ask you a question, answer concisely and always politely," Bridget said. She had a positive glow on her face as if she was explaining how to bake a cake. " Yes, sir, no, sir. Yes ma'am, no ma'am. When you refer to them by name, always use their titles. If you don't know their rank or title, you cannot go wrong with calling them master."

He looked away, unable to watch her talk like this anymore. "Bridget . . ."

"Yes, Shiro?"

"When they come to take you back . . .I could get us out of here . . .We could leave."

He didn't hear her move until his words were halted with a finger across his lips. Bridget stared fiercely at him, her smile was gone, and her lips pressed into a tight line. Her head shook from side to side as she touched her ear with her other hand and pointed at the cell around them. He swallowed and nodded in understanding. She had warned him before of Galra having ears everywhere.

"Shiro, we . . . don't have to escape the Empire," she said. There was a slight waver in her voice, a small trace of fear. "I was punished because I failed it. As long as you serve them well, you won't be punished." Her fingers lowered from his lips to his neck, where the collar was around his neck. Then she touched her own collar and looked directly into his eyes. "The Empire watches out for us, so we must serve it well."

She confirmed a suspicion he had about the collar. It wasn't just for inflicting pain, but for also tracking him. And hers did the same. Even if he managed to overpower the guard and leave the facility, they would be picked up within hours, if even that if they were that lucky. He had tried to remove the collar several times, but the collar was made of durable material with no seams or hinges that he could manipulate apart.

Taking her hand from his collar, he squeezed it, feeling the thin bones within the skin. There was so much he wanted to say but couldn't without bringing more pain and danger upon them. "I'll try harder next time."

"Thank you, Shiro, I know it's hard, but be patient," her smile was warm and genuine. There was a sharpness at the edge of her eye, a sudden determination. "Rewards will come to those who persevere."


	6. The Academy 2

The Academy the last place I wanted to be, but it was never about what I wanted. Never was and never will be as long as I was a damn courtesan. So I kept my head bowed and avoided looking at anyone walking the halls for fear of seeing recognition in a young cadet’s eyes.

What comfort I had was that Takor was no longer my shadow.

It had been three days since I became Shiro’s ‘whipping girl’. His helpless fury over what happened galled him, but he managed to keep it together for my sake, but I feared for his mental and emotional health, or what was left of it. Being held captive for two years, constantly fighting for your life had its tolls and had carved its price in his body.

I was assigned to a bedroom in the staff hall. The room was comfortable with its own bathroom and small eating area, exactly like the ones on Zenana, but with a more soothing aesthetic. This was a room meant for comfort, not to impress or amaze visitors.

I was able to watch entertainment vids that weren’t quite so restricted and could access news channels that were mostly propaganda. The Empire annexed another system. Enemies of the Empire was destroyed. Emperor Zarkon visiting the launch of a new class of warship. So on and so on. But nothing about any rebel cells or anything that would criticize the Empire’s expansion.

This wasn’t anything like when Earth reported on war, showing both sides of the conflict and discussing ways that war could have been avoided. Nor was there any chastising administrations of allowing tensions to escalate to armed conflict. No Galra nor alien who call themselves a citizen of the Empire would dare indicate anything other than praise for it. It made for some boring television, but at least the soaps helped me to pass the time before I am summoned.

There were three places my escort took me outside of my room. The first was to watch Shiro fighting the students. I was given a chair to sit at the edge of the gym, opposite Shiro, so he can see me watching him. My presence there was to be a reminder for him to behave.

I sat quietly, with my hands on my knees, observing while avoiding the eyes of the Instructor who had beaten me. He ignored my presence for which I am grateful, but I was also the subject of excited whispering and pointing. I wasn’t just there as a warning for Shiro, but also a means of motivating the students. Not wanting to engage in any eye contact with anyone, I mostly kept my eyes on him or the ceiling. More than once, Shiro would glance my way, and we would lock eyes, and something would pass between us. I wasn’t sure what - an acknowledgment that I wasn’t hurt, or he would do nothing that would get me punished again.

Three times I entertained as a courtesan. The first had been a cocky lad who kept bragging about his sim-scores and kept promising to buy me once he owned his own ship. I smiled and nodded, praised him for being the next elite Commander. The second was a staff member who wasn’t interested in the talk, but at least he was gentle and patted me on the head before he left. The third had been a lonely student who wanted me to brush him, and while he slept with his head on my lap.

Being in the school unnerved me as I kept remembering back to my years in private school. PE, going from class to class, the alliances and betrayals between students, and the ongoing struggle with balancing academic studies and social life. The Galra acted just like human children, each with their own social groups and struggle under a regime that demanded absolute loyalty and valued strength above all.

My heart went out to the kid that Shiro had ‘saved’. Shiro meant well, and it was noble of him to try to save a member of the race that had enslaved and abused him so, but intervening was the worst thing he could have done. Getting a whipping was common enough that his friends and peers would have consoled him later and commend him for taking such a harsh beating. However, because of Shiro ‘rescuing’ him, he’s become a pariah, an alien-lover. And being the social outcast painted a target on his back for not only the students but for the staff to make an example.

The kid was either going to have to tough it out until the next pariah took his place or he dropped out of the Academy and resign himself to being a simple foot soldier or civilian, which is a long fall for a Heart’s Academy cadet. I couldn’t decide if Shiro should know this or not. It would be a good lesson for him not to interfere with Galra culture, but it might devastate him.

The third place was Shiro’s room, where I lectured him on proper etiquette around their Galra masters. He hated the lessons passionately, and I could see the anger burning behind his eyes. Teaching what I knew was difficult because some things had to be learned through experience. When I first became a courtesan, I had been taught through trial and error of how to behave around the Galra through cuffs and sharp rebukes. These I had accepted with a bowed head and sometimes a tear, but Shiro was accustomed to hitting back and defending himself.

How can I teach a soldier who had been turned into a gladiator not to fight back? Not to bite when kicked or curse when insulted?

My shoulder stung whenever I saw Sendak, where he had bitten me during my first haphazard escape attempt. I had tried to steal a gun, not knowing that all Galra tech and weaponry was sync to their biochemistry, and when the gun had failed to shoot him, I had gone for his knife instead. He had caught my wrist holding the knife, but at the time, he had removed his gauntlet and having only one arm, couldn’t pull me off him when I seized his wrist with my teeth. Instead, he used his own to convince me to let go. The bite was deep but hadn’t broken bone or ripped tissue as he could have easily done.

It was another lesson of many that the Galra were stronger and would always overpower me with ease, which is why I didn’t resist my new escort when he wished to partake in the forbidden fruit of Zenana. Escorts were prohibited from touching courtesans as we were meant only for the Elite and those deserving of such reward. Yet, there were a few who tempted fate or those brave enough in the distance from Zenana.

I barely blinked when my escort came into my room the other night. He was opening his pants and told me to take mine off and put my hands on the bed. I did so and stared at a funny spot on the covers. The spot was a weird shape, not like a drop of blood or a spill. It had a dip at one side like someone tried to clean it, but gave up halfway. I remained interested in the spot until the escort kissed my head, told me I was a good girl, and I could go clean myself up.

After the training session of the third day, Shiro and I received a reward. Maybe it was Commander Sendak’s way to show he was willing to reward good behavior as he was to punish bad. Or perhaps someone higher up felt sorry for us.

We were allowed to go outside and experience fresh air for the first time in a year for me and two years for him. We’ve both lived in sterile environments for so long that we forgotten what it was to smell the grass, feel the wind and sun on our skin, and hear the call of birds and buzz of insects. And there were no walls within sight.

For several moments I wavered between vertigo and agoraphobia as I overwhelmed by the world. It was similar to Earth with a blue sky and green grass. I didn’t recognize the alien planet life, but it was innocuous and lent itself to the peaceful air around us.

Shiro took several deep breaths and flopped onto the ground. Believing he had passed out, I went to his side and surprised by the warm smile on his face. It was the first time I had seen him genuinely smile. It wasn’t forced to reassure me nor sad as he fondly remembered Earth. He was actually happy.

“Join me,” he said, gently taking my wrist and tugging me down.

Before the Galra, I would have grimaced at the thought of getting my clothes dirty or having bits of grass stuck in my hair. Now, I couldn’t have cared less if I was lying in a mud puddle. I couldn’t bring myself to deny Shiro’s wish.

We laid side by side on the grass like two children on a lazy Saturday afternoon. The sun warmed our bodies, and the clouds gave us the illusion of being home again. His hand was a solid comfort in mine, and I listened to him speak about the Garrison and Keith, the orphan he took under his wing.

Listening to him reminisce about him gave me a picture of Keith. A young, scruffy boy with a perpetual scowl and a short temper. Yet, Shiro spoke of him with such affection that I could tell he considered the lad his brother. And the worry he carried for Keith was a heavyweight on his heart and mine.

“If there was one thing I want more than going home, it is to know if he’s alright or not,” Shiro said to the sky. “He’d have fought against the Galra with the Garrison, but I know in war there are casualties. Is he alive and living under Galra rule or died in battle? I can handle either, but the not knowing . . .it gets to me.”

I understood more than he could know. My thoughts often went to my son, Connor, and I wondered how he was doing. He’ll be turning three soon. Was he eating his vegetables? Were there foods he didn’t like? Was he sleeping well at night? Was he scared of monsters or the dark? Did he enjoy being read to or hated baths?

I was missing so much in his hell.

Gentle pressure touched my cheek. Shiro’s fingers brushed away the tears rolling down my cheek, and I was trembling as he sat up, drawing me next to him. I clung to him, feeling a dam breaking inside me as raw emotions twisted my insides.

“Are you thinking about your husband and baby?”

His words struck me like lightning. Every nerve twitched, and every muscle froze as I stared up at him in complete shock. How could he have possibly known about them? Not even my patrons knew. Zenana would know, but what purpose would it grant for them to tell Shiro?

Then it hit me like foul food gone back in my stomach. “Takor . . .he told you about them. When?”

“Before my match with Migo,” Shiro said, with a slight grimace as he recalled that brutal fight that nearly killed him.

“What did he tell you?” My fingers were shaking, and I squeezed my hands close to make them stop.

“I wouldn’t believe anything he said,” Shiro said. “Not without hearing from you first.”

My heart burned with hate for Takor. He must have done it to poison Shiro of me. Or was it done to lord our background over him? “You don’t have to worry about him anymore. He’s gone . . . transferred elsewhere.”

“That might not be a good thing,” Shiro said gently. “I think he did look after you . . . in a way.”

My thoughts went back to my escort, removing his pants. While Takor had been my escort, no others would have dared to try such a thing with me. “No, it’s good that he’s gone . . . you don’t . . .you don’t know what he did to me, to my family. He’s the. . .the reason I’m where I am now.”

I told Shiro everything. From the night the Galra invaded, giving birth in the car while a Galra warship hovered above us, returning to our home and taking the Citizen’s Oath to the Empire. Then I told him about meeting Takor.

“I . . .I was a damn fool,” I said, staring at my hands that hung useless between my knees. “I didn’t see him for the sick arsehole that he is until it was too late. I thought he was my friend, but he wanted to be more than that and when I didn’t give in . . .he took measures to get Devin out of the way.”

“Did he . . .” Shiro started but paused. His hands, flesh, and metal touched mind so gently as if I were made of thin crystal. “Did he kill him?”

“No, but . . .he might as well have,” I said. I told him about Devin’s arrest, how I went into hiding with my friend Eva and Connor and reunited with him. Our reunion was short-lived as we tried to leave Ireland to reach the boats, but Devin fell in a quarry and died. The distant trees drew my teary gaze, the warm sun was gone, and only the deep chill of memory held me. The only heat was from Shiro’s hands-on mind. “I tried to get away with Connor, but they caught us. Connor was sent to my father. I was supposed to be sent to die a labor camp, but Takor pulled some strings and made me his slave instead.”

I wasn’t strong enough to look at Shiro. Seeing his face, his reaction would smash my self-control. It would make everything too real, too close to bear.

“If Takor took you as his own . . .” Shiro started. “Then why are you in Zenana?”

There was no way I could have avoided Prorok. Even after I took my revenge, which was sweet, I would always feel his hands around my throat. “A higher ranking Galra . . .a Commander took me for himself and . . . hurt me. Takor used his connections, and a good bit of his fortune, to have me removed from the Commander’s possession and given to Zenana. He had himself stationed at Zenana as a guard so he could stay close to me.”

“My God, Bridget, I knew what happened to you would be bad, but . . .I couldn’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

He didn’t know all of it; the torture, the indoctrination, the beatings, and the forced abortions. I wasn’t ready to speak of that, and maybe he sensed that in not asking me to go any further. There were some things I would never speak of with him.

Not until later. . .until after the worst has passed.

***

My escort came into my room again while I was sleeping. The shifting weight of the bed awaken me, and I barely reacted when a large hand spread across my chest.

“Be still,” he whispered into my ear.

And I was still. My mind drifted to the past . . .where I was somewhere safe. Ulaz’s suite . . .

_Ulaz had stopped sleeping me with after Shiro’s near death. He gently withdrew from my embraces nor returned any of mine caresses. And the routine exams were cursory and professional. I lay in bed, waiting for him, but he never joins me or prematurely ends our time together. It angered and hurt me deeply that he lost interest in me. Was he that angry or disgusted with me?_

_I was terrified to lose him as an ally. Was this a precursor to cutting ties with me? In his presence, I waited with bated breath that he would tell me I was on my own._

_This space between us gave me time to think, to consider what this is that grew between us. There were times when I believed myself in love with him, but I mostly miss the companionship than him. I liked him as a person, and he was a good lover, but what I had with Devin wasn’t there for him. And maybe he knew that maybe he was using this distance as a means to break this part of our relationship off._

_Shiro . . .I had royally fucked him over. I hated myself and replayed my foolish actions over and over, imagining myself doing something different than if I had acted with a cooler head . . .but hindsight is 20/20, and there was no changing what I had done._

_Ulaz was in the next room, speaking to someone long distance. I waited as long as I could, both wanting to give him privacy and needed to talk with him. Unwanted jealousy unfurled like a flag beneath my breast, and an itch spread between my shoulders._

_There was a faint glow cutting a shape across the floor from the doorway. Ulaz’s head and shoulders stood out like a black phantom from where he leaned over a holo-vid. I couldn’t see the face he was speaking to but could hear the smooth voice responding to Ulaz’s inquiry._

_“Hello?” I said to get his attention gently. “Can we talk about Shiro?”_

_“I’ll be there in a moment, Bridget.”_

_I withdrew into the bedroom and waited for him, my pulse jumping in my throat. My body wanted him, but I knew nothing was going to happen any more than talking. Being in his arms was safe, his touch was gentle, and it hurt to know he would never do that for me again._

_His presence was soothing and also salted in my emotional wound. “Yes, Bridget?”_

_“When we find Shiro, I want to get out of the Heart. I’ll do whatever I have to do . . .”_

_“No,” he held up a hand, cutting me off. “You shall do as you are told. You are not to act alone. Again.”_

_“No, that’s not what I meant.” I breathed into my steepled fingers, controlling my emotions. “I want to do my part to get Shiro out.”_

_“You’re generous, but there is no part to play,” Ulaz lowered his hand and glanced away. “There is no plan.”_

_“Not yet. We have to find him first, of course.”_

_“Bridget.” There was a lilt in his voice, forewarning that he was going to tell me something I would hate. “There will be no plan.”_

_“I don’t understand.”_

_“Shiro has too many eyes upon him.” He spoke slowly and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Even if we find him, it will be too dangerous to extract him.”_

_“Ulaz, that’s not . . .that’s not right. We have to get Shiro home . . .”_

_“I’m sorry, Bridget, but it’s not possible,” the regret in his voice was palpable. “I can’t risk my people’s lives or the secrecy of our order on a single slave. It’s one thing to fake a dismissed slave’s death, but another to steal one away from beneath the Emperor’s gaze.”_

_“Then risk my life,” I said. A quiet fury burned my cheeks, not only at Ulaz but myself as well. I was the reason why it was too dangerous to rescue Shiro._

_“That I cannot do,” Ulaz shook his head. “You’re too valuable an asset to risk, and you know too much . . .”_

_“I would never . . .” I began, but he silenced me with a finger across my lips._

_“I know you would never willingly betray our secrets, but it’s simple enough to promise one thing in safety, but it’s another to keep that promise under torture and interrogation. Yes, I know you have experienced pain at the hands of the Galra, but that was pain dealt in passion and punishment. The pain the Druids will bring you is done with practiced purpose, and they have drugs, hallucinogens, and magics that will break your mind a hundred times over. They are the reason why our secrets are only shared with those who utmost much know them.”_

_Just naming the Druids is enough to silence a room and make the air reek with fear and dread. Even the Commanders and Elite fear the Druids who answer only to the Emperor’s right-hand woman, the High Priestess Haggar, and yet her name was only whispered in conversation and never in a jovial sense. Thinking back to my encounter with the Druid above the arena sent shivers down my spine. Though I couldn’t see their eyes, I felt them on me like a cold mist on my skin._

_“What do we do . . .I . . .I owe it to him,” I said, the guilt reaching up into my throat to strangle me._

_“We watch and wait,” Ulaz said gently in that tone that I found so soothing. “Your inquiring into Shiro’s location will not arouse any suspicion as word have it you were very close; being the only humans in the Empire’s Heart. Continue your inquiries for now.”_

Pain interrupted my thoughts. Moaning, I shifted beneath him, but he pressed me down onto the bed with his weight.

“I said be still,” he groused at me. “I’ll be done soon.”

Closing my eyes, I focused on what happened after Ulaz left his apartments.

_“Bridget? Bridget Walsh?”_

_I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was a young person’s voice, heavily distorted, but came through Ulaz’s comms clear enough for me to understand._

_“Y-yes?”_

_This was too surreal to be believed. The voice was speaking fluent English in a human voice without a trace of an alien accent._

_“Bridget! We’re calling from Earth!”_

_“That’s impossible.” The Galra had a stranglehold on all communications between their annexed planets. For a human, a child, to hack into their elaborate systems just couldn’t be done. Was this a trick? A prank? “How do I know you’re really from Earth?”_

_“We can prove it! Ask us something only a person from Earth would know. Ask us anything.”_

_What could I ask that a Galra couldn’t easily search in human’s databases? Pop culture data could so easily be searched and translated, but the older literary items were harder to translate. “Alright, recite Hamlet’s soliloquy?”_

_There was a long silence. Whatever they were expected, it wasn’t this. For a moment, I believed the call was disconnected, or they were desperately trying to translate the musical words of Shakespeare into Imperial. I once tried to recite Shakespeare to entertain a patron, but the words couldn’t be translated well. He couldn’t tell if I was trying to charm him or insult him. It ended with me being laughed at by an amused Galra, which I preferred to being hurt by an angry one._

_“To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether tis’ nobler of the mind to suffer . . .”_

_A new voice, a young girl’s voice, began reciting the soliloquy in a singsong manner. Different emotions went through me: the pleasure of hearing familiar words in a human voice, the elation of contacting another from Earth, and absolute terror that this conversation would be found out. I could plead ignorance, that I was just a silly alien entertained by a voice on the comms. “Alright, I . . . believe you now . . .How old are you?”_

_“Do you know Matt Holt and Samual Holt? Do you know what happened to them?”_

_The voice was brimming with such desperation that it broke my heart. “Samual Holt was taken to a labor camp. Matt was sent somewhere else. I don’t know any more than that.”_

_“Can you tell us about Shiro? Do you know him?” This came from a new voice, a young man._

_And my heart seized up at the mentioning of him. “Shiro? Yes, he’s . . .”_

_The connection was cut._

_I sat numb near the comms waiting for it to light up again and more familiar, beautiful human voices would speak to me. And I felt so terribly homesick. They sounded like the youths at the mall or near the school. I could hear them discussing gossip at school, complaining about teachers, or praising celebrities and artists._

_When Ulaz returned, I was in tears and in need of whatever comfort he was willing to give me._

I didn’t realize I was alone until my escort stepped from the bathroom, toweling his ears dry. When had he finished with me? I recalled my body seizing up in an orgasm at the edge of my recollections, but not when he had reached his climax. He must have, or he would still be rutting me now.

“Did you enjoy it too?”

This was the first time he spoke to me without it being an order. I gave him an automatic reply, the one he would want. “Yes, sir.”

“Little liar,” he sneered. “All courtesans have your brains fried to the point of being empty-headed, but Takor is right. You still have some wits floating around in there.”

I cringed at the mention of his name but kept my face blank and innocuous. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do.” He was dressing, plucking his clothes from where they fell on the bed and floor. “Takor told everyone you were off-limits. Was he saving you for himself?”

I let the silence speak for me. It became more and more apparent that what Takor said was true. He had been protecting me in Zenana, and with him gone, so too went his protection.

Sitting on the bed, he pulled on his boots. “Takor’s gone, and I’m your escort now. Are we going to get along?”

I gave him the only answer I should give. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. I like you,” he said, giving my shoulder a rough pat that was more like a slap. “But I don’t love you. All those things that fool Takor let you get away with; the talking back, snide remarks, and vicious looks are over. I’ll have them strip the skin of your back at the pillory if you dare do anything to defy me. You’re pretty, but there are many far prettier so you really cannot afford the scars.”

He left me with his words hanging heavily over me. My time in Zenana was about to get worse. As much as I dislike being in the Academy, I was safer here than Zenana.


	7. The Academy 3

Climbing a tree was a small pleasure he had taken for granted back on Earth. With sure movement and a firm grasp on the branches, he pulled himself up to the higher boughs. He was familiar with this tree as it offered excellent cover while allowing him a clear vantage on the surrounding area. He discovered during one of the many Hunts when they gave him a ten-minute head start before unleashing Cadets with stunners and nets after him. A reward was promised to the student who managed to capture Shiro, but no reward was ever given.

One by one, Shiro ambushed each student rendering them unconscious or on the ground with hands and ankles bound. The ones that came closest to catching him were a group that worked together, trying to surround him and pinned him down. He was tempted to let them earn the reward but feared what would happen if he showed any weakness. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m . . .I’m fine . . .” 

“Keeping holding tight, we’re almost there.” 

Her arms wrapped around his neck while her legs around his waist. It took some convincing to have Bridget agree to climb the great tree. The escort gave them an unhappy look but didn’t interfere as Takor surely would have. It was easy to climb up with a mounted companion, but whether it was because he had gotten so much stronger since his captivity or she was so light, he couldn’t be sure. He scaled the tree carefully, making certain of each hand and foothold as they rose along the bole. 

Once he was on the perch, he shifted her onto it before alighting upon it himself. The base of the branch was thick enough for comfortable seating but made for a good hiding spot if he laid flat along the surface. They sat together like two kids dangling their legs off a bridge. She held onto him like a lifeline with a white knuckle grip as he situated himself on the branch next to her, placing Bridget between himself and the bole. 

“Alright?”

“Yes, I . . .I’m experiencing a little vertigo.”

“Try not to look down,” he laid a hand on her shoulder to keep her steady. It would be unfortunate if she fell from this height, but it was necessary to talk where no prying listening devices could hear them. “Bridget, are you alright?”

“Yes, the dizziness is going away . . .”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh.” She nearly looked down, but caught herself in time and looked forward. 

“Have they . . .have they hurt you?” What could he say when he knew what was happening to her each night? While he slept alone in his cell, she was being hurt in ways he couldn’t imagine.

“No, it’s not what you think, Shiro,” she sighed. “At least, not always.”

“I’m sorry . . . I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t want to talk about it,” Shiro said, regretful that he broached such a tender topic. However, the nights of lying helpless in his cell had come to a head.

She was quiet, staring off into the trees. The wind tugged some of her curls off her shoulders, but she didn’t shiver. Jaw tightening, a decision was being made, and she looked at him, her green eyes sharp. “It’s not like you think it is . .. at least, not all the time. I . . .it’s hard to talk about.”

“If you don’t . . .”

“I do, but I don’t know how to explain it without making you think I have Stockholm syndrome. It’s not what you think. I’m not in some drug-induced delirium while a Galra does whatever he wants with me.” 

Eyebrows rising, Shiro turned fully to face her, lifting a leg to straddle the branch. His hands steady himself on the wood. “I’m listening, and I’m not judging you. I’m here for you.”

“I know,” Bridget said, a sad smile touching her lips. Her shoulders rolled slightly as if struggling with a burden. “I’m not going to lie. I do have some patrons who are complete bastards who’ve hurt me.”

A swollen ring of teeth marks on her shoulder came to him, but he nodded and stayed silent. 

“But that’s only a fraction of my patrons,” Bridget said firmly. “The rest of them . . .the rest of them need me. Maybe even love me in their own way.”

“They don’t want to have. . .” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Some of them do want sex, but they’re gentle with me,” Bridget sighed, finding it hard to choose her words. “The ones who aren’t interested in sex only want the company.” Looking away, she lifted her eyes towards the breaks in the canopy where the blue eye peered at them. “The poor bastards are so lonely it’s heartbreaking.”

“Lonely? With all these soldiers of the Empire?” Incredulous, Shiro looked back over his shoulder at the Academy with its hundreds of students, dozens of staffers, which wasn’t 1/10000th of the number of Galra ruling the Universe. How could a species that numbered in the billions of billions become lonely?

“Shiro, what would the Garrison do for a soldier that suffered trauma. Like watching his team being killed or suffering a serious injury in battle?”

The question took him aback, and he answered. “For starters, they’d be treated and given plenty of downtimes to recover. Then if psych eval clears them, they can return to duty or, if not, be relegated to a desk or discharged.” 

Bridget nodded, expecting his explanation. “And that soldier would have emotional support from family, friends, and teammates? Correct?”

“Yes, they would. And counseling if they needed it.” His thoughts drifted to Keith and Adam, but only for a second. He was here for Bridget, not for him to wallow over his lost loved ones. 

“The Galra don’t have any forms of emotional or mental support,” Bridget said, looking at the Academy, her expression morose. “If they’re hurt in battle, the Empire will treat them, but as soon as they can resume their duties, they are sent back. There is no downtime, psych eval, therapy, or even counseling for trauma. To them, being traumatized is seen as cowardly and a dereliction of duty if it interferes with their jobs. A Galra who dares to grieve for fallen comrades is seen as wasting time on those too weak to survive. If a Galra shows any sign of weakness, trauma, or mental illness has a target painted on their back for those climbing the Hierarchy.”

Something heavy dropped in his stomach and Shiro closed his eyes, not wishing to look at the Academy anymore. The faces of the students passed through his head and he could hear the painful screams of the student being beaten for showing off. “You pity them.”

“They’d beat me if they knew I pitied their rotten souls, but I do all the same,” Bridget said. “That’s why they find non-Galra women so appealing. They don’t have to put on airs for us. Who am I, an inferior human female, to judge them, the almighty Galra? A Galra woman would have high expectations, but there’s no need to go to any effort to impress me because I should be impressed with them regardless of their rank because I’m a mere human. They can let themselves . . .let themselves just be around me.”

Now he was beginning to understand what she was talking about. Looking back at her, his hand touched hers and held it tightly. “And you’re the adoring pet waiting by the door with their slippers they can pet and love after they have a hard day.”

Bridget pursed her lips. “Sorta, but I’m more than a dog to them. One patron had a sickness that had flu-like symptoms. I took care of him for three days while he was sick under the guise that he was living with me as if we were honeymooners. Another needed time to grieve because his beloved wife had died. If he showed any emotion in front of his men, they would have had reason to seize his command. Others just need to be held because of nightmares or insomnia. They . . .they need me more than they want me. . .am I . . .do I sound strange?”

“A little, but . . .would you . . .” He was floundering, trying to grasp the words that wouldn’t offend her.

“But I would leave this place in a heartbeat,” Bridget said firmly, answering his unspoken question. “Don’t misunderstand. I pity them, but I do not love them. If I thought we had a fair chance of escaping with our lives, then I’d run away with you right now. If a Garrison ship swoops down to save us, I’d be on it before it touched the ground.”

“And I’d make certain you’re on that ship,” Shiro promised. 

There was a throb at their throats, and they both looked down. Shiro caught Bridget’s shoulder as the sight gave her vertigo, but his eyes burned down at the escort who was motioning for them to come down. Their respite was over, and it was time to return to their respective cells.

His wrists were shackled, and she was led away by the escort, hands unbound. He watched them go and watched with some trepidation as her head bowed, and her shoulders slightly bent as if expecting a blow. She may not wear shackles, but there was a leash around her neck all the same. 

***

But it wasn’t to his cell the sentries took him. They took him up several levels, to where the staffers make their home and into an office, empty save for the towering figure that could fill it with his bulk and menace. Sendak watched the sentries push him into a chair and stand behind, a hand on each of his shoulders. Their metal fingers bit into the muscle and bone, conveying pain and restraint if he tried to move.

Shiro met Sendak’s gaze, but only for a fraction of a second before lowering his eyes to the floor. It burned him to show even the slightest reverence, but the memory of Bridget’s painful screams was too fresh.

“You’ve been learning. Good.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, almost hard enough to draw blood. Anything to maintain a calm blank face and not let the black hate he felt for the beast.

“Tomorrow, there’s going to be a match between you and the students,” Sendak said in a bored manner. “And it’s also a culling.”

Shiro almost raised his head but kept it bowed. What did Sendak mean by a cull?

Sendak elaborated as if sensing his question. Or most likely, it was instruction. “The students are instructed to land at least three hits on you within one dobosh. The ones who do not, you will kill.”

Shiro forewent slave etiquette and raised his wide eyes to Sendak. “What?”

A cruel smirk curled his lip but didn’t seem displeased by Shiro’s sudden lack of respect. “You heard correctly, Champion. Only the strongest may join the Emperor’s service. You should be pleased. For the first time, you can openly kill your oppressors.”

“They’re kids,” Shiro said. “They’re just kids . . .”

“Wrong,” Sendak muttered. “They are Cadets who’ve enrolled in the most prestigious Academy of the Empire. Only the strongest may graduate from its halls.”

“Then fail the ones who don’t pass your impossible standards,” Shiro said, and would have risen if not for the sentry hands on him. “There’s no need to kill them.”

“Victory or Death, Champion,” Sendak reminded him. “Victory or Death, the Empire’s salute. These ‘kids’ as you call them, learned these words from their mother’s breast, and knew what it meant from the first moment they set foot on these grounds. This tradition has been a part of this Academy since the Empire’s inception. You should be honored to play such an important role.”

Head shaking, Shiro said, “No . . .I’m not going to take part in this . . .this is . . .this is barbaric ritual bullshit.”

“You will take part,” Sendak with an affirming nod. “You shall fight the Cadets. You will fight them with all your skill and not throw any fights. And when I give the signal, you shall give them a death more honorable than they deserve for being less than worthy of graduation.”

Shiro knew where this was leading, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

“If you do not,” Sendak continued his bulk shifting. “Then, the courtesan will pay the price for your disobedience.”

Why was he quaffing over killing Galra? For two long years, he had fantasized killing his captors and making them pay for all the horrors and pain they put him and innocents through. And he had killed countless times in the arena, and some of them had been Galra. A part of him, an angry piece of himself, said that he should be thrilled he was getting permission to kill them.

“If I do this . . .let Bridget go free. Let her go back to Earth, to her family.”

“No, we are not bargaining or negotiating your obedience, ” Sendak replied. “Your friend forfeited her citizenship when she broke the Empire’s laws; therefore, she is the property of Zenana, and they have the power to restore her citizen status, and that’s unlikely as she is one of their more valuable assets.”

“She’s a person. Not an asset.” Shiro’s throat was raw from emotion. “I’m a soldier of Earth’s Garrison . . .not your damn Champion, not your fucking executioner. We’re people, goddammit!”

“Your Garrison is dead, crushed beneath the Empire’s heel,” Sendak sneered. “You’re primate race is no more than motes on the wind our Emperor’s rule.”

Shiro had been trained in dealing with zealots of terrorist or cult groups that believed they were fighting a holy war. There was no compromising nor reasoning with them. Cults brainwash people into believing religious dogma, breaking them down, and then reprogramming them into perfect soldiers. What he saw now went so much deeper than that. It was brainwashing, programming that had lasted generations, eons, and from birth to grave and passed on. And above all, it was backed up with an immortal Emperor that had lived longer than human history. 

“However,” Sendak said, a lighter lilt in his voice. “I do believe that good service requires a reward.”

Shiro swallowed. Sometimes rewards from Galra were just as bad as punishments. “What is it?”

“A day in Zenana with your friend. Left alone, no shackles, unlimited access to Zenana’s pleasures, and free to do as you wish.”

At first, Shiro was tempted to spit out a refusal but stopped himself as he considered it. “No supervision?”

“It’s Zenana. Everything and everyone is watched.”

“But we’ll be free . . .”

“Within Zenana’s walls,” Sendak said, narrowing his eye. 

“I want a week. One week of peace for both of us with no patrons or fighting.”

Sendak’s gaze turned darker. “You are too bold.”

“What you’re offering is worth the risk. One week is all I’m asking for.”

There was a long silence while Sendak glowered at him. Was this it? Had he doomed Bridget to more pain for his demand? Was Sendak going to make them both suffer? Or did he have more power than he imagined?

“Three days. No more,” Sendak said.

“Alright. Then I’ll play your executioner.”

Later, he will wonder if it would be worth it. A few days without shackles, cells, sentries, and to be left alone without pain or fear was priceless, he now learned. And if it took Bridget out of these monster’s hands for some time, to give her the same peace, then so be it.


	8. The Academy 4

After our sojourn, I expected to return to my room, but we took a detour instead. It wasn't a concern until I was taken to a part of the Academy I hadn't been before. I looked around for answers, but none was forthcoming that worried me more.

"Where are we going?" I asked as we turned at the end of a long hall.

"Be quiet," my escort said sharply.

Takor would have answered me. He never kept me in the dark about where we were going. No, I refused to miss him. I refused to prefer his company over this escort's. I would take the exploitation over Takor's whining.

Then I heard the hum of chatter and the familiar clinks of utensils on plates. It brought back the familiarity of a school cafeteria, but instead of the soft whispers of girls' voices was the rough rumble of Galra speaking. Instead of leading me into the main hall, he headed for a set of stairs guarded by a sentry with the school's emblem on its chest plate.

He stopped just short of the stairs and waited. I stood a few feet away, close enough to be in his orbit, but out of his reach as I was uncertain of what was happening. This was out of the norm for an escort. During my time at the Academy, I entertained at night and visited Shiro during the day. When I wasn't doing either, I was to remain in the room until needed. And I was never taken to public places.

Hurried footsteps were coming down the steps, and a Cadet appeared at the bottom. He was wearing the Academy uniform, which was light grey with a single purple mark on the chest that marked him as a Junior Cadet. He had a boyish face with tink little tusks poking up over his upper lip with thin eyebrows rose above amber eyes with purple irises.

His eyes brightened when he saw me, and just as his foot touched down on the floor, my escort posed himself between him and me with a hand towards me expectantly. My blood chilled as the implication of the situation became a realization, especially when an Imperial chit appeared in the cadet's hand and was passed into the escort's waiting hand.

"Wait," I whispered, drawing back. This was utterly against Zenana's regulations. Patrons cannot bribe escorts for time with courtesans; escorts were to ensure we were protected assets. "You can't. . ."

My words went unheeded.

The escort pocketed the chit with a satisfied nod. "You have one hour."

"As agreed," the cadet said in a smooth young voice.

With that said, the escort turned on his heel and left me. I turned to go after him or to flee, but the cadet caught my hand. "Come along! The others are waiting!"

Others? What had the escort sold me into?

He tugged me along with him up the stairs as if we were children at play. How old was he? He was younger than the Cadets I have entertained in the Academy. Was he only a teenager? Jesus, as terrible my sexual slavery, I was never forced to serve minors. That was something I would never willingly do, no matter for much they beat or drugged me.

I tried to pull my hand free, but either he was expecting me to resist or he was excited that he didn't notice, I couldn't free myself. At the top of the stairs were several doors, each with a sentry in front of them. One of them scanned the cadet as he approached and then stepped aside to admit entrance.

I was ushered inside through the door with no other explanation for what my purposes would be behind it. Unknowing what to expect, I was surprised to see a table of Galra cadets sharing a meal together. They stopped eating and raised their eyes to us.

"Wow! You actually brought one of the humans to midday meal! I thought you were full of Yupper manure!" A cadet with a spike-like crest along his crown said eyeing me as if it were an impressive item for show and tell day.

The cadet held up my hand like it was a trophy. "You know I'm good on my word!"

What was going to happen to me now? Well, it turned out they were going to feed me.

They ushered me to sit with them at the table while a service droid prepared me a plate of steamed meats and crispy slices of bread. There was a short race to pour me a drink, which I accepted graciously, and that's when I received an epiphany about my situation in the Academy.

Ever since my arrival, it was like I was treading through deep water. There was an imbalance here that made me nervous as I wasn't sure what it was. In Zenana, the balance of power between myself and my patrons was cemented in punishment and drugs. Here, in the Academy, it was different as the shoe was on the other foot, and I was just not realizing what it was.

In Zenana, I was trying to appease patrons who expected absolute servitude from me. In the Academy, the cadets were trying to please me! As I took a slow sip of the prestigious drink offered to me by the winner of the race, I absorbed this new information. What had changed? Why were these cadets different from patrons?

They were young for one thing . . . and that was the answer. They haven't yet learned to be the Galra I was accustomed to. They weren't taught, yet they were masters of the Universe and creatures such as I was to be smitten with them - they were working to earn my affection and not entitled to it.

As I calmed down, I assessed them and could recognize in them the archetypes I would have known in a school on Earth. There was the brainy one with small squinty eyes with dark markings around them—the rebellious one with large black hoops that lined the edges of tall ears. Between them was the jock, taking up the most space with a cocky grin baring sharp incisors. The one who fetched me the drink was the overachiever for brandished on their chest was celebratory tokens of successes awarded by instructors. And then there was the wealthy student, the one who bribed my escort for this time with me.

It was not for perverse or carnal reasons I was brought here. For them, eating with me was like having a celebrity over for dinner. I was a popular courtesan of Zenana that had served the Elite of their Imperial army, not to mention one of two humans allowed in the Heart of the Empire. And being of a predatory nature, they were quite curious of me and Shiro, the undefeated Champion of the Emperor's Arena.

"Are you a mated pair?" The brainy one asked, startling me.

"Shiro and I? No, we're not like that," I said, casually. I forewent using the respectable sir or ma'am to test the waters. What could I get away with among these children?

"Why not? He's the only human out here," Brainy insisted.

"Leave off, G'niese," the jock snorted. "Just because you have a crush on him, doesn't mean every female species does too."

She shot him a vicious glare that promised retribution later. "It's an honest question."

"Ask her something else," the overachiever suggested. "I noticed that though you two are humans, there are physical differences between you. Your hair and eyes are different from his like the way you speak is different. Is it because you're male and female?"

"Oh, no, we're from different ethnicities," I said slowly. "Shiro is Japanese, and I'm Irish. I have an Irish accent, and Shiro speaks with an American accent."

"So is it your Irish accent that makes you sound purry," the jock asked with a quirked brow.

I blinked, confused. I've never been told I 'purred.' "I . . .I don't understand what you mean by purry?"

This earned me a round of amused sounds from them. With a polite smile, G'Niese said, "Every time you speak, I think you're about to purr. Even now, when you're confused."

"Are you talking about my Irish brogue?" It was dawning on me that I was getting the answer to why I was popular with Galra.

"Is that what it's called? Every time you speak, it's like you're purring at us," the overachiever commented. "I thought it was a human thing, but the Champion doesn't do that with his . . . American accent?"

"But wouldn't you call it a Japish accent?" the wealthy cadet asked, trying to be clever.

"No, Japanese," I corrected gently. "Shiro went to America at a young age. He can still speak Japanese fluently, but mostly speaks English."

"Japanese, Irish, American, and English? You humans, have too many subspecies." The rebellious one said derisively. "It's like you want to describe yourselves in as many words as possible."

"We have a very individualistic society," I explained. The meal was pretty good, possibly one of the best meals these cadets could hope to have in this school. "We try to distinguish ourselves through our sexuality, gender, religion, culture, government, and beliefs."

"Yet you also preach unity," the brainy one countered with a twirl of a fork. "Was it just a few centuries ago that humans have fought with those of different religions? Or shunned those of homosexuality?"

Well, this kid had done his homework. Thankfully, I was chewing a mouthful at the moment and took that time to consider my answer. "Humanity is a relatively young race compared to the Galra. The Empire as you know it is 10,000 years old. Humanity's history is only a couple of thousand years. We've only just reached the edge of our solar system when . . . when the Galra arrived." I was willing to test the waters, but I wasn't going to dive headlong into the deep end by criticizing the Empire to a pack of cadets.

"I told you were taking on a lot by choosing humans as your species assignment was going to be complicated," one of her companion said. 

"Well, the unilu and zorix were already taken." 

Most of their questions were about Earth and humans in general, and I was surprised by how relaxed and pleasant I found the meal. Whenever I spoke with Galra, there was tension as I weighed each word carefully so as not to offend them inadvertently; however, these cadets were so laid back and didn't look for insult or disrespect in my words. I was their guest, and they treated me accordingly.

I was too smart not to be so taken by this facade of a new status. Human children played with their dolls and pets in a similar fashion. Having tea parties with dolls or dressing the dog up in clothes and jewels for play. I was just only a toy or pet that could talk back. Despite it, I was enjoying myself and would be sad when it ended.

It amazed them when I told them I had been studying to become a teacher of literature. They never considered other options than being what I am now for them. In their minds, it was an honor for me to serve the Elite, and that would be my sole purpose until I died or became too old to continue my servitude.

"Are you attending the graduation tonight?" Overachiever asked me while refilling my cup.

"I don't know," I said. "Who's graduating?"

"My brother is graduating tonight," G'Niese said.

There was a sudden stillness at the table. All the cadets paused in eating with a myriad of emotions between them, and none of them positive. Fear, anxiety, anger, and even anticipation. For G'Niese, it was dread.

A chill came over me when I recalled that some Academies had rather strict requirements of graduation. Especially the prestigious ones where it was you either graduated a soldier or you were culled during the final trials. Victory or Death is taught at a young age.

I swallowed, uncertain of how to address this or if I should. Sometimes it was better to be silent and still, like a rabbit in tall grass. Thankfully, someone else filled the silence.

The wealthy cadet placed a hand on her shoulder. "He'll do fine. He's a strong fighter. Do you know who will be his opponent?"

"No. The staff are being very quiet about it. I heard a rumor that it was going to be different from the previous classes." G'niese was looking down at her plate as if to avoid eye contact with the others.

I found my voice and comforted her as I would anyone worried about a loved one. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

Not long after, the hour was up, and I was taken back down to the escort. They bid me goodbye with gentle touches and the jock even bold enough to brush his lips across my cheek. I gave G'Niese a fond parting look before departing their private dining room. She reminded me of myself in school. I had been the quiet, smart one that everyone went to for help with their papers, especially literature.

"Did you enjoy your time with the cadets," my escort asked me when we arrived at the room I was kept in.

I was unaccustomed to speaking without considering my words. But the word 'yes' rolled off my tongue.

"See? It's not all misery having me as your escort," he said as he shoved me into the room. "Be ready for tonight. You're going to graduation."

***

It wasn't until the late-night that graduates were summoned out to the school training field. Instead of the obstacle courses, an amphitheater arena had been set up. The seats were filled with faculty and students who earned the right to witness this. My place was at the right-wing, next to my escort and behind High Commander Sendak and his cronies.

The lights were blindingly bright with drones hovering overhead to grant an all-angle view of the fight to any who couldn't be present for this tradition. A group of students, the hopeful graduates, sat on a row closest to the arena all in combat fear and watching the arena in anticipation. There was more than one who was quivering, whether, from fear or excitement, I couldn't tell.

Before Shiro arrived, I had assumed the cadets were going to fight each other. When he was brought out in shackles, my heart sank into my stomach. "Oh, god, no."

My escort made a shushing noise and shot me a dirty look. He had warned me on the way to mind myself and not humiliate him during the fights. I ignored him, leaning forward in my seat, watching where they were taking Shiro. And sure enough, they took him straight to the arena and removed the shackles from his wrists. I searched the crowd for G'Niese, but I couldn't make her out from the wave of purple faces and Imperial uniforms. I hoped she wasn't out here, but if she wasn't here in the crowd, then she was somewhere watching via footage from the drones.

I knew this wasn't going to be pleasant to watch, but this was going to be horrible if they involved Shiro. I leaned towards my escort and whispered, "What are the rules?"

He gave me a scathing look, but grudgingly answered, "They have to land three hits on him within the time limit."

Was that it? I relaxed, and the tension between my shoulder blades eased. As much as I didn't wish any harm to Shiro, his years in the arena could afford him some endurance and resilience to take some hits. However, my relief only lasted until a sentry began distributing the weapons: longswords with wicked curves at the tips.

"Shite," I whispered. It was going to be a bloodbath.

"What's wrong?" My escort sneered at me. "Worried for your Champion?"

"Do I have to watch this?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Oh, yes, you have to be on hand," he said with a sneer that showed off his teeth. A sudden memory of seeing him biting his lower lip during climax came unbidden. "Incase the Champion doesn't fulfill his role in the final trial."

Yet again, I was being used as a stick to get Shiro to do as they wished. I watched Shiro being handed his sword, and knowing if it was a choice between Galra cadets and me, then it was going to me he protected, even if it cost him his humanity.


	9. The Academy 5

** Shiro **

He focused on the cold night air on his skin, the way it teased his hair, and felt good. For so long, he had been kept in a cell in stagnating recycled air, that a gentle breeze was a miracle to him. So many things he had taken for granted on Earth, he would give anything to experience again. 

Fresh baked cookies. Going top speed on a hoverbike. Enjoying a movie with a bowl of buttered popcorn. Petting a dog or a cat. And just . . .just being able to walk out of a room without shackles or being at gunpoint. Focusing on these things kept him from seeing the cadets lined up like livestock at a slaughterhouse. 

_ I’m not doing this for any reward. Sendak was likely lying to me. I do this because I know what they can do to Bridget or me if I refuse.  _

Bunto had told him about the Academy’s graduation trials. Being the Champion’s caretaker had skyrocketed his position to impossible heights that he didn’t dare dream of. This awarded him attention from students and begrudging acknowledgment from the staff, and Bunto learned the history of past trials.

“They used to get the most dangerous beasts for the students to fight,” Bunto had told him while a sentry locked Shiro’s wrists into shackles. “Nowadays, it’s the strongest non-Galra warriors! Like you, Champ!”

Shiro swallowed back comments that would have gotten him punished, but one thing he found safe to asked. “Why, non-Galra? Why not pit them against a Galra warrior?”

Bunto blinked, taken aback, obvious never considered such a thing. “Well, that would be murder. . .” 

“And what I’m about to do isn’t?”

“Of course not. You’re not a Galra.”

Arguing with generations of programmed xenophobia would be pointless. Shiro remained silent as they escorted him outside, onto the field, and into the arena. A sword was placed in his hands, much like the one he wielded the first time he stepped into the arena. 

_ That was the last time I saw Matt . . . alive, at least. He had been terrified and rightly so. They would have torn him apart the second he stepped out there. I saved him from the arena, but did I really save him? Where did they take him afterward? Is he being worked to death in a labor camp? Or was diced apart for a lab experiment?  _

No, focus on the task at hand. This was no different than being in the arena. These cadets were no less innocent than the lives he had taken during the countless fights. 

Bridget was somewhere out in the crowd. Sendak would ensure she was there as a reminder of what would happen if he refused to play his part in this barbarism.

_ I’m saving her like I saved Matt.  _

The first combatant was a cocky bastard. He practically pranced onto the arena, throwing up his arms to the cheers of his peers who stirred him on with whoops and hollers. Just like in the arena. Shiro wouldn’t be surprised if there were betting going on without the staff’s knowledge.

The kid would have gone down faster if Shiro hadn’t been so cautious. He held back, gauging their ability before going in for the kill. Fast and efficient, he ducked a wide swing and went under and around. Wrapping the cyborg around the kid’s throat, he broke the neck with one swift wrench. There was a sudden silence as the body went limp and hit the floor.

Ignoring the silence and the few hisses, he returned to his corner, numb as apathy shielded him. He didn’t dare let himself think of anything else than surviving. Bunto praised him, lightly elbowing his ribs, digging in with ‘these kids don’t know what’s coming.’ 

They did know. He could see it in their eyes each time they faced him. These weren’t battle-hardened soldiers yet, but youth that haven’t yet cut their teeth in battle. They reminded him of the Galaxy Garrison cadets, and worst, Keith. Was Keith alive? Had he been killed in the invasion of Earth? That could very well be avenging him.

Three had been dragged off the arena, and none had landed a hit. There was anxious energy from the remaining cadets. Water slaked the thirsty he hadn’t realized until Bunto shoved a cold container into his hand. He took long pulls from it, draining it deep until he needed breath. 

Three more fell. One had landed a shallow cut along his side. Bunto sealed it shut with Fast Heal while praising him. It was all noise. The cries from the crowd, Bunto’s blabbering, the hiss of his breath, and pulse of his heart. How many more? He didn’t dare look. 

The next one was smaller than the others. More of a brainy sort, like Matt had been. Is. Like Matt is. 

He was agile with amber eyes having a squinted look as he was accustomed to looking at screens or reading. The Cadet held the sword with both hands that slightly shook in his grasp. Shiro was taken by surprise when the kid showed he had some technique. It was a circular motion that was hard to get a bead on. The edge of the sword caught Shiro along the thigh, delivering the first blow, which was quite deep as blood sprayed the white floor. 

A cheer went up as Shiro dropped onto one knee, dizzy from the sudden blood loss. The kid could have landed a second blow, but caution had him backing away on the defense. Shiro closed his eyes, drawing himself together to launch an assault. When he opened them, he was peering into a set of green eyes from a spot behind Sendak. 

Bridget was watching, somber and tearful. The tear streaks glowed brightly on her face from the floodlights. Her mouths moved, lips forming words. Was she shouting, and he was unable to hear her over the crowd? No, she was mouthing each word carefully, just for him to understand.

_ Spare him. _

He couldn’t save Matt from whatever fate he was taken to. He couldn’t Bridget from being abused. And Keith was too far away for his aid. But he can save this life. This one life. 

Shiro turned back to his opponent and went for him. His attack was sloppy, too broad, and the youth cut him along the side, nearly reopening the wound from before. 

Two blows delivered. 

He went low, his move predictable even to a child. The cadet backpedaled out of the way, and Shiro went up, bringing his arms up above his head for a downward arc downward. The tip of the sword found his shoulder, but with no strength behind it. It was his weight that made the blade bite so deeply into his flesh.

A whistle sounded, ending the fight, and the crowd roared. 

Backing away, blood dripping on the floor between his feet, he south Bridget again. She was standing, clapping with the crowd despite the odd look from her escort. Nodding, she mouthed,  _ Thank you. _

“C’mon, Champ,” there was a tug at his hand, familiar and insistent. “I gotta get you patched up for the next fight.”

As he turned, he caught another set of eyes, or eye, peering at him. Sendak’s single eye was narrowed as his optic gleamed. He knew Shiro had thrown the fight on purpose, but Shiro couldn’t care. If he wanted blood, there was plenty more to be had before the end of the night. 

***

Water sloshed over his body and swirled pink down the drain near his toes. Most of it was his, but some of it had a purplish tint to it. All, but three cadets of fifteen had died tonight. It had been an execution of the weak, an event that would have pleased the Emperor.

“You threw the fight.” A graveled voice slashed stall behind him. 

“You needed winners,” Shiro muttered, bowing his head. Water prayed across the nape of his neck and over his shoulders. “Someone for the others to aspire to be.”

“A weakling,” Sendak sneered. 

“No,” Shiro replied, placing his hands on the wall to support his weight. “Someone who overcame a challenge. Victory or Death, Vrepit fucking Sa.”

Feet thundered behind him, a huge claw grabbed him by the shoulder and twisted him around. Feet slipped on the tile, his back against the wall, as he peered into the furious gaze of High Commander Sendak. White teeth, snarled into his face as the words ground out. “Do not dare sully those words in my presence. I will have every tendon in your body cut and throw you out in the wilderness for the beasts to devour. I will grind broken glass into your eyes and have you wonder a desert of poison wastes. I will saw off your arms and legs and throw you into freezing water. Then . . .I will do the same to your friend.”

He was flung back against the wall, hard enough to hit his head and knock the wind from him. Landing on his ass on the water, he scooted back against the wall, his heels slipping on the floor. Sendak loomed above him, lethal energy crackling around him. 

“Kneel and show respect, Champion,” the order was hissed with venom and hate. 

There were so many ways he could retaliate. Sweeping Sendak’s feet from under him and grappling him, or coming up with an uppercut. Or even just punching him between the thighs. Yet, Sendak will make good on his threat. He was not a man of empty words.

Nude, covered in water and wounds, Shiro prostrated himself before Sendak. His forehead touched the cold floor and his hands, clenched in fists, open and flatten on the surface. This pained him more than the injuries. Yet, not as it would have been to watch the life leave the eyes of the Cadets. 

A long moment passed. Water almost went up his nose, but he did not move one iota from the position. 

“You have earned your reward,” Sendak said. “Three days in Zenana. Stay in this position until I leave.”

Many minutes passed before Sendak’s footsteps took him away from the stall and down a long hall. Shiro didn’t move until they were gone. 

** Bridget **

He was hauling me to my room by the arm. I was walking on tiptoes to keep my arm from being dislocated. My escort was angry, and I didn’t know why, but I was about to find out.

“You little bitch,” he hissed under his breath. 

“Please, stop!” I begged, afraid, and ashamed for it. “What did I do?”

“You know damn well what you did . . .you cost me 300 gac!” He slapped the panel, and the door opened, and he flung me inside. 

I barely caught myself on the bed. The door shut behind him, and he palmed it locked a very bad sign. I had to smooth this over, but I had no idea how. “What did I do? Please, I really don’t know . . .”

“You think I’m blind,” he hissed, stalking across the space between us. “You think you’re so clever that I wouldn’t notice you telling your Champion mate to lose that fight?”

I swallowed. The cadet resembled G’Niese, and I had guessed that he was her brother. When Shiro locked eyes with me, I had made the plea to spare him. I would never believe the escort had seen me do it. “Which fight? Shiro lost three . . .”

He hit me, and I fell on the floor, catching myself on my hands and knees. I had been struck before, but during controlled circumstances when a sentry would step in to protect me. There were no sentries nor protection here. 

I tried to crawl away, but a foot caught me in the ribs. I curled up, protecting my head and face from anymore blows, hearkening back to Prorok. God, was this happening again? I’m locked in a room with an angry Galra that wants to hurt me. Why is this happening again?

He was on me, wrenching me onto my back. There was a rip, and my skin was exposed. “You’re going to make up the difference.”

Thirty minutes later, he was gone, and I was sitting in a tub filled with lukewarm water that eased the pain in my body and soothed the blooming bruises. It hadn’t been as bad as Prorok, but then I didn’t bother fighting him. Prorok had taught me not to fight.

I turned off the facet just as the water reached the top. Being meant for Galra, the tub was large, and the water came up to my neck, which was just as well as I had no wish to see my bruised body. 

Did I regret encouraging Shiro to spare the lad? No, I didn’t. And I took comfort in that my heart wasn’t so full of hate and pain that I would willingly see an innocent of my enemy perish. I had spared another the shock of seeing a loved one die.

Surely that had been worth this pain. 

Suddenly, I ducked my head under the water, cocooning myself from the outside world, which was far away. I screamed long and hard, and a torrent of bubbles rushed from my mouth, tickling my cheeks and ears. The scream lasted until my lungs gave up all air, and for several moments, I considered not coming up for air.

I surfaced, bathed, changed into sleepwear, and went to bed. Tomorrow, I will be taken back to Zenana, a familiar, but still dangerous place. 

And later on, Shiro would join me. 


	10. Jodi

Drix could sit up with some assistance; grasping my fingers, he held himself upward until he found his balance and could sit by himself. Since he could sit up, he could entertain himself at the low table that Alli used for puzzles and coloring, which she found abhorrent. 

"No! Go away! This is my spot!" 

I was taking an opportunity to dust while Drix entertained himself. He could keep himself occupied with blocks and chew rags as long as he could see me. He had spent the first month of his life clinging to me and whining each time I set him down. Finally, I could set him down without eliciting the mournful whines of a child being abandoned while I did something as simple as scratch my nose or fetched a juice box for Alli. 

Chewing on his rag toy, Drix peered up at Alli, who was standing over him with a furious glare with her hands on hips. Even her tail was puffed out in her displeasure. 

"Alli, there's plenty of the table to go around," I said in a gentle but firm tone. "You can sit on the other side." 

This was far from the first time I had to stop her from giving Drix a hard time. I had caught her more than once snatching toys out of his hands or pulling his ears and tail. More than once, I exercised my right to send her to her room for time out.

Alli rounded on me, horrified that I would dare suggest something so logical. "I like this side better!"

I hemmed in my frustration, but nodded, "Then I'll move him to the other side of the table."

She watched in uncertainty as I rotated Drix around to the other side of the table. He wasn't perturbed by the new spot as long as he had his block. Once he could sit up by himself, I stood up with my hands on my hips. "There. Happy?"

In pure childish fashion, Alli still wasn't happy and found reasons not to be. She complained about him all the time. If he looked at her, made too much noise, or took up her space, no matter what, it all offended her. I had seen sibling rivalry before, but not to the point where I feared one sibling intentionally harming the other. 

Her tail was puffed out and her ears laid back in irritation at his presence while he happily cooed to himself and chewed on the block. 

"Put him away! He can play in the crib!" 

"No,” I said, fantasizing giving her a pop on the rear. “If you don’t like being around him, then you can go play in your room.” 

In the beginning I had no idea of how much authority I welded despite Lirna assuring me I could discipline the children as necessary, but what did that entail? Was there limits? Like a teacher putting her hands on a student could lose her job? Or corporal punishment like in boot camp or juvie? 

I got my answer one day when Alli refused to listen to me and was rotten all morning. She refused to eat because we were out of her favorite Grilly Puffs and I tried to give her a generic brand she called Yucky Pops. Whenever my back was turned, she threw handfuls of them at Drix who cried and wouldn’t be comforted until I held him. 

Telling Alli to stop and behave was like throwing cotton balls at an elephant. It did nothing and it only served to amuse her. When I tried to clean up, she made it a game to try to trip me despite whether I was holding a dish or Drix. Then she scattered all her toys across the living room despite my telling her to get one toy to play with at a time and hissed whenever Drix so much as touched one of her toys. It all came to a head when I tried to rock Drix to sleep for a nap. 

Knowing what I was trying to do, she stood on the coffee table and screamed at the top of her lungs. Drix was frightened and clung to me, his sharp little claws poking holes in my shirt and skin. I begged Alli to stop screaming, but with a wicked grin she shook her head and kept on. It went on for nearly ten minutes until the Director appeared.

Well, not appear, but more like barreling into the room. It never failed to amaze how fast Galra could be despite their great size. He torpedoed towards Alli who was too late to see him in time. She was in the middle of a long scream which was abruptly cut off when he delivered a blow that threw her bodily through the air and rolled across the floor until she stopped in a stunned heap. 

For a horrifying second, I had believed he had just killed her before my eyes. The pink form lay still for several long moments before it shifted and a sniffled that broke into a sob told me she was still alive. The Director rounded on me and for the first time, I saw him angry and worst, it was directed at me and the kids.

“If words alone can’t control Alli, then by all means, use your hands or a stick until she minds,” he growled. “She’s Galra. She won’t break from a few smacks.”

“Yes sir,” I whispered, bowing my head in apology. “It won’t happen again.”

And that should have been the end of it if not for Alli’s stubborn streak and inclination to not know when to stop even when it's in her best interest to do so. Picking herself up, looking to be in whole and unharmed, but still had fire in her eyes. 

“I hate you, Daddy! I wish Mommy was still here! And not you!” 

Shit. Even that was a low blow back on Earth. I wasn’t sure how it was for Galra and I was about to find out.

The Director had been walking towards the doorway, but stopped in his tracks. When he turned around, I was certain he was going to charge her again. A frightened squeak erupted from the Galra girl, but she sat down with her ears folded back and tail tucked beneath her legs in a show of submission.

“S’ry, Daddy,” Alli whimpered. 

Her father directed a long hard look at his only daughter before turning away and leaving the room. After he was gone, Alli had a much different attitude for the rest of the day. She sulked, dragging her tail behind her and refused to have anything to do with Drix or me. It was later that evening that she began to get back her old fire, by refusing to eat her dinner. 

I was putting away dishes when from the corner of my eye, I saw Alli give Drix a sly look and scooped up a handful of food. I was on her like a shot. Grabbing her wrist, I smacked her hand until she dropped the food. “No, no, no! We are not going through this again. You throw food in this house again and I’ll slap the pink off your ass.”

She openly glared at me and looked as if she was going to say something back. I reared back my hand, ready to deliver a slap if she dared mouth off to me. Then she sagged in her seat and pushed her plate away. “I’m done.”

“Go play in the living room until I’m finished in here. Then you are going to get a bath and go to bed.”

After that I rarely had to lay my hands on her. A threat was enough to cow her and by showing that I wasn’t afraid to use physical pain to punish her, she warmed up to be which was odd. Like I had earned her respect and therefore was also awarded her affection. 

Whenever I was on the floor with Drix or playing with her, she'd come up behind me to nuzzle my hair with a purr. She had a fascination for my hair and asked if it was really my body fur gathered at my head. 

“No, humans don’t have fur. We have thin little hairs on our skin and the longer hair on our heads,” I explained, letting her explore my hair. 

“Don’t you get cold?” 

“We wear more clothes when we’re cold,” I said. 

After our rough time together, I began to warm up to Alli. She was a sweet inquisitive kid when she wasn’t being a holy terror. Though, I suspected it was because she was frustrated and confused about what was happening in her home. Her mother had left and then shortly after, she had to share her home with an unwanted sibling. I suspected that she believed Drix was responsible for her mother’s leaving. 

Did she understand why her mother left? Was it ever explained to her by either parent? Divorce among Galra was quite common, maybe more so than on Earth. But it wasn’t usually over unfaithfulness or unfulfilled expectations. It was simply to move up in rank or social hierarchy. Alli’s mother simply netted herself a higher ranking husband and had left her family to enjoy the privileges above what she had with the Director. Was it that easy for them?

No, she had wanted to see Drix before leaving for her new life. I never got a good look at her. She was only a shadow in the doorway, blocked by the Director. 

Regardless, I got Drix to myself. Over the weeks since his birth, he grew from being my ticket to a good life and a kid who was my charge to being my child. I’m not sure when it happened, but I know when I realized it. 

I was waking him up from an afternoon nap by rubbing his belly. Squirming, his little face scrunched up in a fitful waking, and when he opened his eyes and saw me, a bright toothy smile spread across his face. His hands raised, opening and closing, in his way of saying he wanted a cuddle. 

“Hello, Jelly Bean, did you have a good nap,” I asked, picking him up. Warm affection filled me when he clung to me, small hands kneading my shoulder as I patted his back.

I had come to love him in a way I had never been able to with any of the kids I had cared for. Before, I couldn’t allow myself to get attached to anyone. Foster homes filled up and you were bounced to the next open house. It was a series of constant separations and partings, heartbreak and loss. It may have been why my psychologist suggested I had antisocial tendencies by avoiding attachment because doing so eventually led to emotional pain. At least, that’s what I read in a report while she left the room to speak with the social worker.

Here, I can let myself become attached. I wasn’t going anywhere. No one was going to kick me out nor would a tired social worker in a wrinkling clothing was there to take me to my next home. This was home for me and the best one I ever had.

I could sleep without being afraid of something trying to hurt or steal from me in the night. Other than the blow out between the Director and Alli, there were no tensions of violence or drunkenness. There was always food, clean clothes, a comfortable place to sleep without competition. It was small, but I had my own space where I kept my clothing and toiletries. It may not be no more bigger than a broom closet, but it was mine dammit and everything was where I left it. 

However, there were still dangers as I learned the day I took Drix to have his tail removed. 

And Drix had so loved his tail. It served as a second pacifier. Whenever I had to step away for a moment, I just tucked his tail into his hands, and he was content until I returned. It was something to stroke while I soothed him for sleeping or when he was upset. It was a part of him as his feet and hands until the Director gave me instructions to take him to the clinic.

I didn't realize the intention of the visit, believing it was a simple follow up appointment for newborns. And I was quite anxious as this would be my first time leaving the house on my own. Lirna would come over to watch Alli while I was gone. 

The Director was delivering my instructions while I bottle fed Drix. I kept my eyes averted from his face, but upward as a respectful angel to indicate I was listening. 

"Drix may be nauseous after the procedure, so be careful of him vomiting on the way home."

"Procedure?" I was taken aback. 

"They are removing his tail."

Instinctively, I cupped Drix's bottom, protecting his tail as if the Director intended to snip it off then and there. "I . . .why would they cut off his tail, sir?"

"All male Galra have their tails removed," the Director explained. "Women can choose to have their tails removed later, especially if they go into the military. The doctor may suggest cropping his ears, but I'll wait to see if he grows into them first."

I didn't realize I had my hand over Drix's ears until he tilted his head back to express his feelings of the matter in a smelly burp. 

The Director may see it as something akin to being circumcised or having ears pierced, but this was a big part of Drix’s body that was being changed before he was old enough to give consent. 

There were two transits; one for Galra citizens and one for slaves running errands for their masters. Slaves were only allowed to ride the citizen transit if they were accompanying a master or caring for their children. I waited patiently at the transit stop with Drix reclined in a sling across my waist. I entertained him by tickling his belly and feet until the transit shuttle arrived. 

When I boarded, a droid scanned my collar registering who my owner was and detected Drix, who blinked at it. In a feminine voice, it inquired, "Purpose of boarding?"

It never asked this question of Galra. "To take the baby to a doctor's appointment."

It took a moment to check with the Dataspace where the Director would have logged in his orders for me. This prevented slaves from disobeying or taking unnecessary detours in errands. Once it cleared me to board, I took one of the seats at the front meant for slaves with children. Across from me was a tired-looking green skin woman with a beak trying to manage rambunctious twin tots. 

I tucked Drix to my chest, patting his back, settling him for a nap. The tired woman looked at Drix enviously. "Better enjoy it when they're small." She was manually pinning them in their seats with both hands. For her efforts she was rewarded with sulky growls and nips. 

I gave a dry laugh. "I have an older one that would kill this one if I'm not watching her."

"And she will if you're not careful," the woman warned.

I couldn't tell if she was joking or not. "I'm new . . . but what is the other transit like?"

"Not as nice as this . . .but it's safer than walking."

"Safer?" Was the traffic that dangerous? I had the impression that this part of the city had little to no crime. Having a home was a relief as I certainly didn’t miss sleeping on the streets where anything could happen to anyone. 

The woman grimaced at me, her small black eyes creasing in worry. "You have to be careful about walking alone. There are hoodlums, Galra youth, who pass the time assaulting slaves."

I blinked, completely stunned. This was something I hadn’t thought about. Slaves were property like cars, houses, and lawns. If the bad kids of Earth had no qualms about graffiti, smashing cars, and tearing up lawns, then Galra bad kids could very well do the same to slaves also. 

I drew a slow breath to stay calm and told myself that this was no different than Earth. Just be aware of my surroundings and be careful. 

We arrived in time for his appointment and were far more efficient than hospitals on Earth; I didn't have to wait long for a nurse to collect Drix. She walked up with a hovering bassinet and ordered me to set Drix inside of it. I was hesitant, and wanted to reassure Drix that he was going to be okay, but the nurse made an impatient huff, took him from my arms and set him in the bassinet. Being parted from me set him into a fussy tantrum, which was swiftly silenced when a blume of gas erupted into his face from the sides, and he went still, falling asleep.

"We'll bring him back in ten doboshes," she said before taking him away.

If I were the actual parent, she would have smiled, been reassuring, or even let me walk with them to the operating room. Instead, I was the slave who had to wait in the lobby for her charge to be returned. I was apprehensive as poor Drix was having a body part snipped off in the next room. A tail wasn't as crucial as an arm or a leg, but it still disturbed me for him to lose it.

It was like losing a part of him. 

As the nurse promised, they returned him with instructions to keep the area clean and how to administer painkillers. She also warned that he might get sick when he wakes up, so I should take him home to rest. It was unnatural how still he laid in the sling and even more so when there was no tail for me to be mindful of him lying on. 

He woke up on the transit home. Whining, he curled into my stomach, and I held him close, crooning to him, promising it was going to be alright. When he started to cry, I almost wept with him, actually angry with the Director for allowing them to mutilate his son.

Now Drix had become accustomed to life without a tail. For a while, he would reach for where his tail would be to play with or suck on but find nothing. There would be a moment of confusion and loss, but he would find something else to occupy him. 

Like the stack of blocks, Alli had built. 

He had started crawling and had discovered Alli's structure quite fascinating. So much so that when my back was turned, he had made his way to the blocks. It was Alli's wail of anguish and the falling of blocks that had me whirling around.

"My house!" She shrieked like a homeowner who was still making payments. "He broke it!"

I was more concerned that blocks had fallen on him, but he seemed fine. "It’s alright, Alli, he didn’t mean to do it."

But she was not to be appeased. Drix stared up at her with an innocent expression of confusion and interest. That is until Alli thwacked him between the ears with a righteous fist of fury. 

"Alli!" I said sharply. "Girl, what did I say about hitting him?"

"He broke my house!" She turned to me, pointing a tiny clawed finger at him. 

"And do you want me to smack the pink off your tail?"

Before she could respond, she squealed in pain, and I saw Drix had caught her tail with both hands and was savagely biting it. She did a little dance, feet stomping in place until I pried Drix's mouth opened and freed it. 

"Drix! We don’t bite," I said, scolding him for the first time in his life. 

He was licking his teeth, likely savoring the taste of revenge. I barely had time to prevent Alli's retaliation. She had picked up a particularly large block and held it above her head to smash it across Drix's head. After that, playtime was over and the blocks were put away. I sent Alli to her room and put Drix down for a nap. 

I met Matrim for the first time shortly after. He startled me as I had forgotten entirely about the eldest of the Director's children. I hadn't laid eyes on him until that afternoon while I was cleaning.

"What was all the screaming about?"

I whirled around to see a miniature version of the Director peering at me, tiredly from the doorway of the kitchen. For a terrifying moment, I thought one of the hoodlums the woman from the transit had warned me about had broken in to have a go at me. Then I recalled Matrim, who rises up early to go to school and comes straight home to study. I had never seen him because he leaves for school before any of us wake up and return while I'm tending to the children in the playroom. Alli's screams must have brought him from his studies to investigate.

"Drix bit Alli," I said. 

"Oh, good for him. The little pest likely deserved it. It's about time she got a taste of her own medicine," he said as he looked me up and down not sexually, but curiously as one would examine a new appliance. "What's your name?"

"Jodi . . .sir," I replied, dipping my head. I didn't know how I was to interact with Matrim. Was I to treat him as I did the Director, or was he on the same level as the children, or somewhere in between?

"Ugh, I'm not ready for anyone to call me that," he muttered. "Save it for my Dad."

"Oh, I'm sorry that Alli disturbed your studies. I'll try to keep them from being so loud." What if Matrim complained to his father about me? What if the Director became angry that I allowed the children to interrupt his eldest's studies? 

However, Matrim snorted and shrugged, "Yeah, studies."

I noticed how he had shrugged and almost laughed. Maybe Matrim wasn't as studious as the Director believed him to be? Just like a teenage boy reading comics or surfing the net instead of doing schoolwork or studying. It made me anxious for a moment before I realized that the Director didn't put me in charge of Matrim like a tutor. My role was to keep the house clean and take care of Allie and Drix. What Matrim did or didn't do in his room had nothing to do with me.

At least, that was what I believed in the beginning.


	11. Iverson

Cigars were hard to come by and fetched a pretty penny on the black market. Iverson tried to save them for special occasions, but those had been few and far between. Now he smoked when he desperately needed to take the edge off the stress of operating a rebel cell. 

His ex-wife convinced him to give up the cigars. She had griped that being a commander, he had to set an example for his men by living a clean life. However, she was a civilian and didn't understand the stresses of being a combatant during wartime. How a soldier needed something to take the edge off. It was one of the reasons why their marriage doesn't hold together.

Now he missed her dearly. She had moved home after their divorce, and her city had been one of the hardest hit zones. He made inquiries, but like too many others, there was yet to be any news, and likely he would never know if she was still alive or one of the thousands of casualties of the invasion.

However, sometimes a ghost from the past would make an appearance, like the one standing before him.

"At ease, son. Take a seat and help yourself to a smoke if you want it."

"I never had much use for tobacco products, and the war hasn't changed that," Officer Adam Winston said. 

The kid had seen better days, Iverson thought to himself. His hair was several inches longer than military regs, nearly hanging to his jawline in tangled tufts. He wore the same under frame glasses, but there was a crack at the edge of the left lens, which didn't likely bother him as there was an eyepatch beneath it. The war hadn't been any kinder to him.

"If it's not classified, how did you make it back to the States? You were assigned to the Middle East if I recall." He filled two glasses of clean water, boiled and chilled in a nearby stream. Usually, he would be offering scotch or whiskey, but supplies were short, and water was needed for survival. 

"It's a long story," Adam replied, accepting the glass. He took a long pull, nearly draining the glass halfway, swallowing slowly with slight bobs of the throat. There was a quick dash of the tongue across his lips as if catching every bit of moisture.

Iverson recognized the signs of someone who had gone without water for long stretches. You tended to value what you depended on when it's gone. "We have time."

The Garrison base in Saudi Arabia lasted two days in the war before the Imperial ships destroyed it. Seeing the base couldn't endure another onslaught, it was evacuated with a handful of men sacrificing themselves to keep up the fight. 

"I volunteered to stay, but my commander said I was needed in the fight ahead," Adam said, looking into his glass, at his reflection. "We hid in the mountains for almost a year and raided Galra supply chains. We took what was needed and distributed the rest to the hardest hit communities. Eventually, our leaders got into contact with the Rebellion and became part of the network. I was on the next ship for the United States."

And those ships didn't have GPS and operated on gas-powered motors, Iverson thought to himself. Technology had been reduced almost medieval times as Galra sensors could pick up any technology above a certain level. It took the ship the better part of a year to leave via the Persian Gulf make its way around Africa and across the Atlantic ocean without being caught by aliens. 

"You came just in time," Iverson said, lowering himself in a chair. "There's a mission, a risky one."

"Aren't they all?" Adam gave a rare laugh.

"You just returned from overseas," Iverson shifted uncomfortably. "I wouldn't ask you of this if it wasn't so vital."

"Then order me," the officer said plainly. "Cut to the chase and make it an order."

That was one thing Iverson had liked about Adam. He was a pragmatic thinker and decisive. While Shiro had the instinct for piloting, Adam had the technique. They had formed a brilliant partnership in the academy, and they would have gone to great heights together if it wasn't for the Kerberos mission. Iverson wasn't sure what happened between them, but the partnership ended when Adam requested a transfer. 

"I could do that, but let me explain the specifics, and you decide if you want in," Iverson replied. 

There was a draft in the old farmhouse where the rebels had taken shelter. It was isolated with the fields overtaken by weeds and grass. It was comfortable and solidly built and reminded Iverson of his childhood home. It was fond memories that belonged in another world, different from this one.

"How long have you been back in the States?" Iverson asked. 

"Enough to learn the kats split the country into districts for easier control and to isolate potential rebellions." 

"Which has been working in their favor," Iverson sighed regretfully. "They've wiped out entire districts that even smelled of rebellion, so any resistance groups aren't keen to join us."

It had worked in Europe and Asia with small resistance groups connecting in a network of rebel cells. Since the US was the more powerful country, the Galra were wise enough to divide it into different sectors, which made communication difficult. Thankfully, Galra soldiers had several things in common with human soldiers; the need for entertainment, booze, and women. 

"It's not to my liking, but it's worked wonders for us," Iverson admitted. "It put us in contact with a valuable source. Dr. Margery Kayla . . ."

"I'm not familiar with that name," Adam admitted. 

"She's a brilliant doctor with insight into the medical science field," Iverson said, thinking back on the southern accent crackling over the radio and how it made his skin crawl. He usually enjoyed listening to a feminine southern accent, but coming from this woman like getting covered in grease. "She's the key component in a classified mission. I can't tell you any more than her work must be protected at all costs."

"Alright, so how is it being protected?"

"We need to get her and the data out of District 88, but the kats are looking for her. A few months ago, we planted two agents into the district to make contact with other agents and the doctor. They were also to assist with data mining the kats' network. You might recognize their names from your classes. Lance and Hunk."

"They're still alive." For the first time, Iverson saw a genuine smile touch Adam's lips. "They're good kids, but Lance can be arrogant, and Hunk isn't the bravest cadet I've seen. Why them?"

"Honestly?" Iverson's eyebrows rose and then sag as he looked away. "They're talented soldiers, but they're expendable. This is a war, and not just any way, but one for the freedom and survival of the human race. Lives are going to be lost, and we have to make those losses count for something."

"You don't have to defend yourself, Commander," Adam said, adjusting his glasses. "I've taught such lessons before on tactical warfare."

"Then understand that I wouldn't use these boys needlessly." Iverson ran a hand along his shorn scalp. It wasn't the neat military haircut, but what a rebel barber with shears could manage. "They're in a position to not only protect Dr. Kayla's work but to also deal a blow to the Galra's weapon supply chain in this region. I'm sending orders for them to blow up the munitions factory in District 88."

Adam drew a deep breath, his remaining eye blinking several times. "That's a tall order for two cadets to pull off."

"Hunk is a highly skilled engineer," Iverson asserted. "Lance isn't my best player, but he's a team player and an excellent marksman. They also have a talented hacker working with them." Should he mention the other one? From what he recalled, the two of them didn't get along despite their closeness to Shiro. However, Adam was a professional and wouldn't let personal issues affect his decision. "Also, Keith Kogane is working with them."

There was a slight twitch of an eyebrow at the mention of the name. "So Keith is still alive. That doesn't surprise me. He's a survivor, but wasn't he expelled?"

"He was, but made his way to District 88, where he met up with Lance and Hunk and signed on with the mission." Iverson recalled the brazen dark-haired youth that bucked any authority save for Shiro's. 

The kid reminded him of an abused dog that's been put through hell and attaches itself to the single kind soul that first showed it affection. When Shiro was lost, Keith lost his drive to succeed and fell into old habits of fighting, even though that little Kroger shit deserved it. His sonuvbitch father turned on the Garrison to keep his comfortable life under alien rule. If there was one thing Iverson prayed for other than the safety of his men and for cause, it was he would live long enough to watch that traitor be executed by the very men he had betrayed. 

"Now that surprises me," Adam said, lifting his shoulders. "Keith is a loner; it was difficult to convince him to cooperate with others in team assignments. When he was expelled, he left and didn't look back."

This is where this meeting was going to get . . . difficult. "He's motivated to help. Are you aware of the Galra entertainment they broadcast from their territory?"

"I've heard of it, but I've been hidden away in the mountains and crossing the sea with little to no communications," Adam said, inclining his head, curious by this turn in the topic.

"One of their entertainments is a bloodsport gladiator arena, where they throw prisoners into a ring and force them to fight to the death." Iverson scratched the side of his nose as a distraction from what he had to say next. "Shiro is in one of those arenas."

The long silence that filled the air was sudden quiet that comes after glass shatters. Adam's hands tightened around the glass to the point the water trembled. "How? The Kerberos mission failed . . .the reports said he died."

Yep, this was not going to be pleasant. "Yes, in the public reports, it stated there was a piloting error that caused the ship to crash. However, in the classified reports, there was no data to indicate a crash. The ship and crew simply went off radar, disappeared with no trace."

The deep breath Adam drew was long and deep, and his head bowed. "Are you sure it's him?"

"Keith saw him fighting in a holo-vid, and Lance confirmed it himself. They also made contact with another human captive in the heart of the Empire. An Irish woman named Bridget Walsh, who confirmed having been in recent contact with Shiro." Iverson rose, wincing at the ache in his leg. It had been bothering him more recently. It was hard to differentiate between his old injury or aging. It took a moment for his leg to support his weight and he went to the window. "She could also confirm that Holts survived the Kerberos Mission. Samuel Holt was taken to a labor camp somewhere in the cosmos, but she didn't know where the kats took Matthew Holt."

The glass thumped on the table as Adam rose. "What about his condition? It would have made him in no condition to fight by now! Not without treatment!"

"It's safe to say the kats may have cured him, or maybe there was something in the food." The window was cracked, but still kept the cold out. Outside, the soldiers were going through training routines. They all wore whatever they could stick together from the scraps of clothing they scavenged. Jeans, overalls, and even flannel shirts dotted the field. "Bottom line is this: he's alive, and Keith wants to go on a solo mission to save him," Iverson said, turning away from the window. 

Adam gave a dry laugh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Of course. I wouldn't have expected any less of him. Sometimes, I think that kid has a death wish."

"So you agree that it's a suicide mission," Iverson said, returning to the chair, but not sitting down. 

Shaking his head, Adam replied, "Try impossible. The second the kats detect an unauthorized ship leaving the planet, they'll blast it out of the sky. And we have next to nothing knowledge of intergalactic space travel so Keith could be wandering across space long enough to die of old age and never get anywhere near where they are holding Shiro."

"Unless he uses one of their ships," Iverson said in a wistful tone. "There ships have hyperspace capabilities and coordinates."

"Which is still impossible. Their technology only responds to Galra biochemistry," Adam shook his head and adjusted his glasses again. "And he'd have to find a means to steal one, another impossible feat. I respect the kid's gumption, but he needs to wake up to reality."

"Good. If you accept the mission, then you'll have to talk him out of it." Iverson slowly sat down, wincing as his leg buckled slightly. "I know you and Keith had your differences, but he's a fighter and a damn good one too. We can't afford to lose that much potential on a long shot."

Sighing, Adam flexed his hands together, steepling the fingers. "I will admit that Keith is a young man of many talents. He's rough around the edges and has a rebellious streak. Hopefully, everything that's happened has tempered that streak into something manageable. I wouldn't get my hopes up as Shiro was the only one who could get through to him, but I will try to make him see reason."

"Then you want in on the mission?"

"Yes, I accept the mission."


	12. Thace, Keith

Six weeks after the bar was closed, Thace allowed it to reopen, but with conditions attached. There would be security cameras installed, and the footage would be sent to the District Center, which Bruisers agreed to wholeheartedly as he saw it would provide his business more protection. 

But the second condition he hated with a passion. The Empire's Domestic Affairs will install a business partner to work with and supervise Bruiser. The bar owner stared at Thace, completely thrown by this second announcement. "Sir, it's my bar."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," Thace said, thumb tracing the edge tumbler from where he had been nursing a blue liquid. "But in actuality, it's a business the Empire has allowed you to operate alone, and due to recent events and some complaints, I've seen it imperative that a more experienced business owner should work with you."

For the first time since Thace had become acquainted with the stocky human, Bruiser's small eyes narrowed. The human had usually portrayed nothing less than reverence for any Galra and did everything to appease Head of the District, Thace. This look was typically reserved for if one of his girls gives him backtalk or Keith shortly after the bar fight. 

"I mean no disrespect, sir, but I know how to run a bar. I've been working in them since I was fourteen. What complaints? If it's the girls, I'll straighten them out . . ."

"Not the girls," Thace was quick to say as Bruiser's eyes had lingered to where the club he fondly christened Ginger was stored beneath the bar. "The men like the girls, it's the drinks."

Bruiser's eyes darkened into twin pieces of black stone in the spirit of an offended bartender. "What's wrong with them?"

"This is a Crolian Blue," Thace said, indicating his drink. "It's flat. You're supposed to mix it with Sistine 45, so it shimmers." The liquid swirled in a dank steel blue. Bruiser had quickly offered him a drink upon his arrival in a means to placate him. 

"I didn't know that." Bruiser's round cheeks turned a dim shade of pink. "It's an alien drink, sir."

"Which is why you need someone with experience with alien drinks to help run your bar," Thace said as diplomatically as possible. "The reason why your business has done so well is that it's the only place in this District that serves off-planet drinks, but if another bar was to open that offered higher quality drinks, then your girls might not be enough to keep them coming in the doors."

Bruiser was quiet as he considered this. Thace gave him time to think but knew if he refused, then he would have no choice but to have Bruisers shut down and rezone the property for Imperial use. There was no need to mention this, Bruiser might not be the brightest human Thace has come across, but he was a shrewd businessman and understood how things stood with the Empire. 

"Alright, sir, I'll sign him on," Bruiser said with the air of caving in to hire some down on his luck relative. 

Three days later, Bruiser met his Imperial approved partner. From across the bar, he stared at this new arrival, eyes wide and mouth gaped open. Thace wasn't sure what Bruiser was expecting. Another human to help run the bar? Humans didn't yet know the astronomical amount of drinks and beverages of the known Universe. And if Bruiser thought he'd be working with a Galra, he was sadly mistaken as no Galra would willingly lower themselves to work side by side with a non-Galra. 

"Bruiser, this is Carthon." 

The tall green skin unilu was less than impressed with Bruiser. A finger from his lower right hand stroked the surface of the bar then grimaced by what he saw on his fingertip. With an askance at Thace. "Do primitives know how to clean, sir?" 

Thace could see Bruiser rolling his jaw from behind the counter. Remaining out of it, for now, he perched at his usual stool and let the two businessmen square off. 

"We've been closed," Bruiser said, eyes narrowing dangerously. "I'll have the girls clean once we reopen."

"The girls? Oh, those waifs you flaunt as sex workers. The Galra must be desperate to pay anything more than a gac for a tick with them. I take it they are clean since I haven't seen any Galra suffering from the Alien Pox."

Face turning red at the insult to his girls, Bruiser bent downward, hand reaching under the bar. "You might change your mind if I introduce you to one of them. Her name is Ginger."

As Thace was about to intervene, a motion caught his eye from the door. Keith was hesitantly stepping inside. Without his red jacket, he came in jeans and a black t-shirt which showed off his trim body in a way that made Thace's jaw tighten. A familiar yearning rose in his stomach from his loins, and he turned away before it overwhelmed him to the point his desire manifested itself physically. It had been too long since he sent Leslie away and broke things off with Haxus. 

"Bruiser, you said you might have some work for me," Keith said as he cautiously approached the bar, but his eyes were on the unilu giving Bruiser a challenging glare.

"Yeah, yeah, have a seat and a soda. This is gonna take a while," Bruiser said, setting a can of coke on the counter for Keith. It was more out of habit than courtesy.

Keith took the can and assessed the situation between the alien and the human as he backed up. Taking the soda with him, he went to his usual stool beside Thace. A wave of joy passed over Thace as the youth climbed onto the stool next to him. Studying his movements, Thace could see some trace of Galra in his motion. A sublime grace in his slight frame that Thace longed to embrace. 

"Who is that?" Keith asked, still eying Carthon. "Uh, what is that?"

"Carthon, he's an unilu that's going to help Bruiser make his bar more accessible to Galra tastes," Thace explained. What he wouldn't say is that Carthon was also an overseer for the Empire to ensure no seditious activity. It was a compromise to ensure the bar remained opened as a means for the men to let off steam in this District. 

Keith nodded, stared at the unilu for a moment longer before opening the coke can. Thace listened to the hiss of the fizzy drink as Keith took a long pull from it. He wanted to talk to Keith, but he was uncertain of what topic to go into. Another apology for Haxus's action that disastrous night? Ask about his work for Bruiser?

"I heard that Leslie left the District," Keith murmured. 

Thace blinked, completely taken aback as he usually was the one to initiate conversations between them. "Yes, I arranged for her and her family to find a new home in another District."

Keith rubbed his thumb along the condensation on the can, leaving a line along the surface. "And to get her away from Haxus?"

"Yes, though I believe Haxus's work will keep him busy for the foreseeable future." The man was obsessed with locating Margery Kayla who has yet to be found. All leads turned up nothing, at least whatever Haxus bothered to report to him. "And he won't bother you."

"I'm not afraid of him," Keith muttered. "I handled myself against him."

"Because he was distracted," Thace cautioned. "And he was correct that assaulting an officer is an automatic death sentence. If it weren't for the circumstances, you would be in serious trouble."

Keith lifted a slender shoulder and took a long pull from the soda can. Thace watched the slight bobs of his throat as he swallowed and looked away before it became too much. It was unnatural for anyone to be so striking. Was it because of his mixed heritage that created the right combination that stoked his ardor so?

A sudden choking noise drew both of the attention to what was happening between Bruiser and Carthon. The unilu spat out a mouthful of liquid onto the floor and was grasping his throat as if poisoned. Bruiser glared viciously at the choking alien as if he wished his hands were around the other's throat. 

"Is this cleaning solution!?" Carthon wheezed, blue sclera eyes becoming bloodshot. "Are you trying to kill your customers? You should be put before a firing squad and executed for attempting to poison Imperial soldiers."

"It's Jack Daniels, you ignorant sonuvbitch," Bruiser said dryly. "One of the finest whiskeys in America."

"It's piss!" Carthon seethed through sharp teeth. 

"You gonna clean that mess up?" Bruiser jabbed a finger at the mess on the floor.

"Leave it. The floor is cleaner for it than before." 

Both Thace and Keith watched the exchange, both entertained and concerned. Thace spoke out of the corner of his mouth, "Should I step in?"

"I'd let them hash it out," Keith said. "They might end up becoming best friends . . .if they don't kill each other first." 

The human and the unilu descended into insults and fists shaking, but there was no sign or energy to indicate that it would come to blows. Just in case, Thace cleared his throat loudly to remind the businessmen of his presence. 

"When Bruiser reopens, there'll be security cameras installed," Thace said, as a means to continue speaking with the youth.

Popping his head upward, Keith gave him a curious look. "Oh? Really?"

"Yes. It'll keep things secure and safe here. If anyone bothers you, I'll have video evidence to support any claim you want to make against anyone who harasses you."

Keith's eyes darted to the corners of the ceiling and nodded, "So it'll be safe for me to come back here during open hours."

"I believe enough time has passed," Thace promised with a slight bob of his head. "The men will be too happy to have this place back in operation to pay much mind to you. And . . . I'll be here to intervene."

There was a long pause before Keith said, "Thanks."

He glanced at Bruiser, who had come around the bar to stand toe to toe with the unilu, he drained his soda and laid a few gac on the bar. "I don't think Bruiser is going to have time for me today, and I have other jobs waiting. Tell him I'm still available if he has worked for me."

Thace was sorry to see Keith leave but saw no means to keep him there. "I'll tell him. And I supposed I'll see you again soon."

Keith gave him a small smile, and it was a beautiful sight to behold. "Sure. See ya."

Thace watched him leave, taking no small pleasure in it, though almost ashamed by it. He needed to find another partner and soon, which would be easy. What drew him to Leslie was her uncanny resemblance to Keith, and Haxus had been a male willing to have sex with him. He may have to settle for one of Bruiser's girls, even if it won't fully sate him.

***

With hands in pockets, Keith headed for home while his heart raced. The sun beamed down on his hair and neck, but he was accustomed to the heat of high noon. Sometimes, it made it easier to think, and his mind was racing. 

It seemed since Bruiser was going back into operation soon, his nightly meeting with Thace would resume. However, it would be different now after the game night. Keith wasn't sure of what way it would be different, and that unnerved him as he understood he was ill-prepared for it. There would be a new intimacy between them. Could it be called friendship?

Making friends had never been easy for him. He found comfort in being alone, and the only people he ever felt close to had been his father and Shiro, and they were both gone . . .no, not both of them. Shiro was still out there. 

Returning his thoughts to Thace, Keith knew that his link was Thace could still be used to find Shiro. However, with the bar being reopened, it meant they could resume watching the fights there, and he wouldn't have access to Thace's private terminal. They'd have to find another way.

What was worrisome was the security cameras in Bruiser's bar. Lance and Hunk would have to be wary of them lest they get caught getting information from Sandy on video, especially if they cause another brawl. 

A new sense of exuberance at finally being able to move forward filled him. Plans would need to be made for the next phase, but it was frustrating that he wasn't certain of what that would be. Would it be more data mining? Steal codes to a ship? Actually, steal a ship?

He knew the plan to find Shiro and the Holts weren't popular with Lance and Hunk, but he never really needed anyone's approval when he decided something. Save for Shiro's, that is. 

Later, he would get Pidge alone so they could talk and figure out their plans. If it was a computer, she could hack it, and if it was a ship, he could pilot it. Between the two of them, they should be able to handle a rescue mission. Though, Keith would only admit this to himself in private, having the others on board would definitely help their chances. 

***  
"The selection of beverages is paltry at best, and what you do have I wouldn't use as an engine cleaner." 

"Nothing is keeping you here, asshole," Bruiser growled. "There's a door right over there if you want to leave."

Continuing as if Bruiser hadn't spoken, Carthon said, "And for starters, why do you only have female workers. You're cutting out half of your clientele by not offering any males."

Cocking an eyebrow, Bruiser said, "Sorry, but the Galra aren't interested in dicks."

Snorting in actual amusement at such blatant ignorance, Carthon gave the human a snide grin, "How can you be so sure?"

"Because Galra don't like gays!" Bruiser hissed, struggling to keep voice low lest their topic offended Thace's ears. The Galra was still sitting at the bar, looking away at the door where the lad, Keith, had just left through. 

"It's not considered gay if it's not another Galra," Carthon whispered, bending himself lower to speak face to face with Bruiser. "And they'll pay extra for a taste of the forbidden wine."

Bruiser raised an eyebrow in a show of interest but was still suspicious. "How much?"

Carthon told him, and the dark eyebrows rose in appreciation. "Shit, you serious? That much?"

"If you get one or two, the Galra find desirable. What about that one that just left?" 

It took Bruiser a moment to determine to whom Carthon was referring. He glanced where Keith had been sitting minutes ago. "You mean Keith? Holy shit, no, that little turd will curb stomp out all my teeth if I suggest he sell his ass to aliens."

"Then make it worth his while," Carthon shrugged with all four hands upward. "Or find some other attractive males to suffice."

As Carthon moved onto insulting the selection of drinks, Bruiser ignored him to think to himself. He wasn't what people would call a homophobe; he'd never harassed or assaulted any gays. It was better to avoid them altogether, and as long as it didn't involve kids and animals, far be it for him to tell someone whom they can roll around in the sack with. While in his mind, it was alright to sell women as sex workers, because that's part of what women were for, it unnerved him to consider doing the same to men. 

And how the hell do you bring that up with another man? It'd be different if it were women paying for sex; hell, Bruiser would sell himself into prostitution if that was the case.


	13. Keith, Thace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There may be triggering subjects in this chapter. There is a lot of talk of aborting pregnancies and rape. Tread carefully or skip chapter if you are easily disturbed by these subjects.

Midmorning was almost too hot to weed a garden, but it needed to be done as soon as possible before the parasitic plants overtook the garden. Mr. Weaver had done what he could with a hoe, but his job didn't provide time to tend to a garden, and his wife was confined to a wheelchair. The Weavers had a large backyard, made bigger with the fence knocked out to make room for more crop. Before the Galra came, it would have led to a row between neighbors, but since the next-door house had been empty since the invasion, there was little complaint. 

Keith stared at the rows of tomatoes and stalks of corn, which was struggling against the overgrown seeds taking over the soil. It was going to be a lengthy job under a hot sun, but he had taken on harsher jobs before. And he wasn't alone, though he wouldn't count on too much help from his partner.

Sammi was wearing a thick long sleeve shirt despite the heat and insisted she would be okay. Yet the sweat was rolling down her temples, and her blonde hair clung to her brow from the walk from the apartment. She believed her clothing hid her pregnancy, but she had advanced far enough to be showing despite the covering.

"Staring at it isn't going to get it done," Sammi declared, wielding a spade at the garden. "The sooner we start, the sooner we'll finish."

Keith's eyes shifted to the slight swelling in her middle, but he said nothing. It was Sammi's choice to come with him . . .in fact, she insisted on coming with him. She said she was going crazy being cooped up inside the apartment all day, and some sunlight would do some good. He wondered if she was hoping handling weed killer would induce a miscarriage.

The sight of her belly, mottled with bruises and the raised hammer, stayed with him. It wasn't any of his business what she did to her body, but it disturbed him nonetheless, and he couldn't decide if he should tell Pidge about it or not. Ii wouldn't sit well with him if Sammi was found dead on the floor from internal bleeding, and he had done nothing to stop it. 

They were an hour into the job by the time Sammi finally talked to him about it. Between the rows, she was on her hands and knees, digging at stubborn crabgrass while he hoed the larger clumps around the edges. He had taken off his shirt, and as the sweat tickled his spine, he wondered how Sammi could stand the sweatshirt in this heat.

"Keith, could you help me? These weeds are pretty tough," she said, almost in a low whisper.

He knew it wasn't his help with weeds she needed. Setting the hoe on the ground and wiping sweat and hair from his face, he tread into the garden, knelt across from Sammi and picked up the extra spade she offered him. "What do you need help with?"

Sammi pursed her lips, her eyes looking between him and the weed clump. With a sigh, she dug her spade into the ground and looked directly into his face. "I need help with getting an abortion."

Keith shoved his spade deep into the soil and shifted it around the roots of a clump of thistle. "I don't see how I can help you with that. I don't know any doctors, and I sure as hell can't do one."

It took several tries to pull up the clump, roots and all. He tossed it to the side and began working at another handful of weeds. Why did the Weavers let it get this bad before coming to him?

"You're friends with that Galra," Sammi continued, watching him work with her hands clenched on her knees.

"And what makes you think he can help?" Keith said as if he was being accused of something when she said 'that Galra'. There had been bitterness in those words that bordered towards hatred. 

"The Galra have all the medicine and medical equipment," Sammi said, eyes narrowing. "You might have been in the desert when they first got here, but one of the first things they did was confiscate all the medicine from the doctors and hospitals just so people with chronic illnesses would die."

"The news of it reached me," Keith muttered. "Does . . .does Pidge know about your asking me this?"

"Yeah," Sammi said, lowering her eyes. "We talked about it last night."

"What about her Mom?" Keith hadn't had a chance to meet her personally, but it struck him that she might actually be against going to the Galra for an abortion.

Sammi shook her head hard enough to make her ponytail whip around to swat her cheeks. "Of c-course not! She'd try to talk me out of it and make me feel bad about wanting to kill it."

"Then why not have it and just leave it on someone's doorstep," Keith groused.

"Nobody will want this baby," Sammi hissed so viciously it startled him. "It's. . .it's not human."

He stared at her, the pieces coming together inside his head with the rumor he had heard about a girl being assaulted months ago. A cold finger ran down his spine as he stared at Sammi's predicament with new eyes. She wasn't a teenager trying to get rid of an inconvenient pregnancy, but a victim dealing with another potential trauma. Chewing his lower lip, he shuddered, not knowing how to say. 

"I don't want this thing to be born," Sammi growled, tears gathering in her eyes. "I tried to miscarry it, but it won't die. And I'm afraid I'm going to end up killing myself trying to kill it."

"So you think that Thace . . .can help you?"

Tears fell freely down her cheeks. "There aren't any other options. There are no doctors in this District that can do an abortion, and I'm running out of time. A Galra got me into this situation, so it makes sense that it'd be a Galra to get me out of it."

Keith rubbed the bridge of his nose, hating that she was putting him in this situation. "So, you want to come to Bruiser's with me?"

"Oh, hell no!" Sammi was scandalized. "Are you serious!? Why don't you lather me in honey and toss me in a bear pit? You couldn't hold a gun to my head and march me over there."

"What? You want me to go to him and ask him to arrange an abortion for you?" Then Keith's cheeks turned hot as he considered what it would imply. "He's going to think I'm the one who knocked you up!"

"Then let him think whatever he wants. I don't care what you tell him as long as he can do something to get this thing out of me."

"Or you could let nature take its course . . ." Keith murmured. 

"No, I don't want it to live. I want it dead like I want all Galra dead," Sammi seethed. "I refused to raise their population by even half a point."

Rubbing the back of his head, Keith drew a deep breath. "Alright, I'll talk to him about it. . .just don't get your hopes up. I honestly don't know if he can or will help."

"That's all I ask," Sammi said with a tearful smile. 

It took another hour to finish the job without speaking further about it. Despite the heat, he felt a cold weight in his stomach as he considered how he was going to ask Thace for such a favor. And how would Thace react?

The Weavers were appreciative of their work. And Sammi was all shy smiles until Mrs. Weaver handed her several gac chits and reached forward to lay her hand on the gentle swell of her stomach. "There's a little extra for the baby."

Sammi's face fell, and Keith couldn't tell whether she was going to cry or start yelling. 

***

Just like any dreaded chore, the chance to speak to Thace came sooner than Keith would have liked. As much as he would have wanted to stay in and rest after a long day of gardening and mending fences, Sammi was staring at him expectantly around the apartment. He knew he would get no respite from her pleading looks until he followed through on his promise. It was better to get it over with than delay it, and with Sammi's advancing pregnancy, there was a time factor involved. 

It was with apprehension that he walked into the bar, and sure enough, Thace was there as the gallows would be present for the condemned. Was Thace waiting for him? No, Thace always sat there each night Keith would come. There wouldn't be any correlation between the two.

Keith didn't notice Bruiser eyeing him from behind the counter. Nor did he see the unilu, who was tending the bar, give the bar owner a nudge in the ribs with one of his four arms and indicated the youth. 

"Yeah, yeah, I see 'im," Bruiser muttered, dropping his eyes to the glass he had been cleaning. "Just hold your horses . . ."

"I don't have any of these 'horses,'" Carthon snorted.

Thace was looking down into his glass in thought when Keith approached his usual stool but didn't sit. A smile began and faded as he took in Keith's uncomfortable countenance. "Is something wrong?"

God, was it that obvious? With hands shoved into his pockets, he shifted uneasily as if his clothing itched. Thankfully the bar was full of Galra making their conversation and entertainment and it was only Thace who noticed him come in. Maybe there would be no cadets hunting him tonight.

"Uh, yeah, kinda," Keith said, touching the back of his neck. "Listen, can we go somewhere and talk? Alone?"

Thace's thin eyebrows rose sharply. "I suppose we could. Where should we talk?"

"Outside? Maybe around back? Or just anywhere we can't be overheard." It didn't help matters that Keith's cheeks were burning. Maybe it would be better to talk to Thace at the bar, and he had considered it, but then he wondered if perhaps Sammi's rapist would overhear them. For him to find out about his unborn child and Sammi's plans for it would be the last thing she wanted. 

Thace finished his drink and two gulps, wincing as it burned his throat on the way down. Carthon had really educated Bruiser on how to pour an excellent drink. Then he rose and followed Keith out the door. 

Behind them, Carthon jabbed Bruiser in the side and pointed at the door. "There goes about 50 gac that could have been in your pocket."

"Shut up," Bruiser growled. "It's not like that."

"False Riches," Carthon swore. "That Galra wanted to dip him in rilex sauce and eat him whole. Mark my words, you are losing money by not hiring him."

"Then you go hire him, and I'll help look for your fucking teeth later," Bruiser snorted.

The air outside was warm, and Keith caved and shrugged out of his jacket. Tugging the front of his shirt, he circulated air against his torso and slung it over his shoulder. His pale skin was just a few shades darker from working outside, and his muscles were toned from the increased activity. Thace's eyes drank in his appearance and looked away. 

There was a stack of crates around the side, and Keith moved behind them, and Thace followed, but with a cautious step as if realizing this could be a trap for him. To think, he was being lured out by a human at a bar where several Galra had gone missing and found buried in the desert.

Might as well get it over with. "I have a friend . . ." Keith began, but just as quickly, he lost his nerve, and the words faltered. Damn, this was tougher than he anticipated. 

"I see . . .and is your friend in trouble or needs a job?" Thace's voice was polite, but curious as he had believed the youth to be a loner. Was it presumptuous to think that Keith didn't have friends? Or was it just a term he used loosely?

"She's in trouble," Keith stumbled over the words. "She's. . . she's pregnant and . . ." He halted when he saw Thace's bugged and blinked at him. "It's not mine!"

"Of course," Thace said quickly. "I believe you. It's not your baby. Is it another friend's child?"

"Not exactly . . .listen, she . . .” Keith looked away, rubbing the back of his neck and wishing he was anywhere else, but here. "She doesn't want the baby."

"I see . . .there's an orphanage outside of the District that will take it," Thace said, wondering why this had to involve him.

"She doesn't want to have the baby," Keith said quickly, to get it out before his courage failed him. "She wants an abortion." Thace cocked an eyebrow and stared at him. Looking away, Keith's face burned, cursing Sammi for putting him in this situation to be humiliated by a Galra. 

It was Thace's turn to look uncomfortable. "Keith, I'm sorry, but I can't see how I can help. Your friends got themselves into this situation so they have to deal with the consequences. I can arrange for the child to be taken to an orphanage when it's born if they still want nothing to do with it after the birth."

Keith recalled Sammi's tearful eyes, and his humiliation unfurled into righteous anger. "She didn't do this to herself!" His body moved and, without thinking, grasped the front of Thace's shirt and pulled him down to face level with him. He glared into the Galra's face with narrowed eyes and bared teeth, in a semblance of an angry Galra youth. "She was raped by one of your men! The baby is half Galra."

Grasping Keith's wrist, Thace twisted until he let go and stood straight. He held onto him, but Keith's eyes still blazed. "When did this happen?"

"Months ago. You never heard the rumors?" Keith barked. 

"What rumors?"

"A girl was out after curfew, my friend," Keith started, filling the fury filled his belly. It was as if it was happening before his eyes. "A patrol dragged her into an alley, and one of them raped her. Now she's pregnant."

The fur around Thace's neck bristled, and his crest rose slightly. Drawing a deep breath, as if to calm himself. "Does she know the name of the one who . . .?"

"I don't know, and I didn't ask," Keith snapped. "Why don't you ask your men? They all tend to have a thing for human women." He hitched a thumb towards the building where the guests could be heard laughing raucously. Keith instantly regretted his words when a wave of hurt passed across Thace's face. His anger receded but didn't look away. 

"I would never condone such behavior," Thace said, gravely, his eyes never leaving Keith's. "I will find out who did this and punish them accordingly."

"That's all fine," Keith said. "But Sam . . .my friend still needs an abortion."

"That's still no simple thing," Thace replied. "Once she has the child, I can make arrangements for it to be taken somewhere half-Galra are cared for . . ."

Keith shook his head. "You're not listening. She doesn't want to have it. Thace, she's been hitting herself in the stomach with a hammer to induce a miscarriage. She rather risks her life than give birth to a Galra's child."

For a long time, Thace stood silently, staring between the wall and the crates. Keith didn't disturb the silence, but waited, wondering what news he was going to take back to Sammi. Could Thace help them after all, or was Sammi just burdened with having to give birth to a baby she would rather drown than raise?

"I . . .I might have a friend that can help," Thace said slowly. "It'll be a few days before I can contact him, and I'm not sure if he can come to Earth."

"And he can do an abortion?" Keith asked.

"He works in Zenana," Thace said, looking tired. "So he sees a lot of unwanted half-Galra pregnancies there." 

"Zenana?" Wasn't that where Bridget Walsh was being held in the Heart of the Empire? "What kinda place is that?"

"No, it's a pleasure station," Thace sighed, looking up at the night sky. "Exotic women across the Universe are brought there to entertain the Elite members of the Imperial Army."

Keith's stomach flipped, and he felt sickness rising to his stomach. Bridget Walsh had been arrested more than a year ago and throughout her time as a captive, she had been at Zenana. What had happened to Sammi was terrible, but it was nothing compared to what he was imagining happening to Bridget for that year. "Damn." 

He hadn't meant to blurt out that word, but it came forth as involuntary as a sneeze or vomiting. Thace looked down at him and for the first time, Keith saw regret in his eyes. With ears tilted down, almost laying flat to his skull, Thace said, "My people are responsible for many atrocities. You would find it hard to believe that at one point, such things were forbidden among us. Now it's just an everyday occurrence that no one blinks at."

Again, Thace was saying something that borderline, no, outright criticize the Galra. Keith shifted his feet and pocketed his hands. "I have to go. I'll go tell Sa - my friend that you're looking into having someone come to take care of things."

"And could you tell her," Thace started, then changed his mind. "No, nevermind. Apologies and well wishes will not erase what was done to her. Nor would they be welcomed from a Galra."

Thace left. Keith watched him go, believing he should say something, but what? It wasn't his place to grant forgiveness, and Thace wasn't the one who needed to apologize. Yet, it didn't sit well with him to see the pain in Thace's eyes.

Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, he went back to the apartment in silence. Sammi was likely still asleep, so his news could wait until morning. How would she feel about a Galra performing the abortion? Hopefully, she wouldn't object because it was her best bet to get one.


End file.
